


Phased Out

by Yuuri_Katsukmycock



Category: Original Work
Genre: American Football, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bad Parenting, Bullying, Character Development, Chatting & Messaging, Domestic Violence, Dry Humping, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Gaming, Hand Jobs, High School, Humor, Immaturity, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Loss of Virginity, MMORPGs, Private School, Protectiveness, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Smut, Sports, Step-Brothers, Step-siblings, Teenage Drama, Work In Progress, gay side characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 121,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuuri_Katsukmycock/pseuds/Yuuri_Katsukmycock
Summary: Mutiny is the latest first-shooter MMORPG. Players from all over the globe can team up to kill zombies, retake stolen empires, and forget reality.Harlow Pace. Trouble with authority figures. Pessimistic as fuck. Lonely.As a senior in high school, the last thing Harlow expects is for her mom to announce that she got a new job - in another state. Faced with moving across the country with little notice, Harlow struggles to find solace in the one person she has grown to trust: a Mutiny player who goes by “B.” Restarting her senior year of high school in a private school is difficult. When Harlow finds out the real reason her mom got a new job across the country, life becomes complicated.Beckett Harper. Quarterback. Takes the term "asshole" to another level. Tired.Beck is starting his senior year of high school with the news that his father’s girlfriend and her daughter are moving in. Angry that his father has been sucked in by another money-hungry slut, Beck swears to himself that he is going to make this new step-sister's life a living hell. Beck copes by talking to a girl he met through Mutiny—“H.” Forming an odd friendship with H helps Beck cope, but he can’t help but want more.
Comments: 51
Kudos: 67





	1. The Downfall of Humanity (as we know it)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a high school bully romance story. It will get very smutty, but it is slow build, so bear with me. The summary isn't that great, but this story is currently being formulated in my brain, so even I don't know where it'll go. This is a project intended to revamp my love for writing, so I have a goal set to upload at least once a week until this story is finished. My word count goal is at minimum 80k words (hopefully much longer, but we'll see).
> 
> Thus, the chapter awaits!

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was watch my father die. He was diagnosed with bone cancer in his jaw when I was thirteen, stage four, and was gone before my fourteenth birthday. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he died so quickly—smoking and using chewing tobacco for thirty years does that to you. Still, watching as he tried chemo and radiation, lost all his hair, and eventually had to have his jaw amputated just to give him another month to live—that was hard.

The only thing that has yet to compete with the difficulty of watching my father die from his own self-destruction is the experience of walking through the front door of my childhood home and seeing boxes everywhere.

My mom sits on the floor of the kitchen, wrapping dishes in newspaper and humming to herself.

“What are you doing?” I ask, tone lifeless. I adjust the backpack over my shoulder and rub my eyes, dry from not sleeping enough.

Mom glances over her shoulder at me. “Honey! I didn’t know you were home yet. Didn’t you have to work today?”

I shove a box out of the way with my foot. “Called in. I’m tired.”

She sighs. “I keep telling you to stop staying up all night talking to those _friends_ of yours.” She says the word ‘friends’ with obvious distaste. Mom doesn’t like the fact that I have online friends. She doesn’t like that fact that I met them through playing an MMORPG, or that I would rather stay up until three o’clock in the morning talking to them over going out and doing stupid, teenage girl things. Like getting a boyfriend or doing cocaine—what normal teenage girls do, I guess.

“You never answered me.”

Mom goes back to wrapping dishes. The crinkle of newspaper grates on my nerves and makes me twitch in irritation. “We’re moving. I got offered a position in Colorado with an immediate start date. Bryant—you remember Bryant, right?—offered to let us stay with him while we find a new place.”

“We live in Maine,” I say slowly, as if she has yet to realize that Colorado is hours—days—away. “We can’t just—just up and _leave_. I have a job and I just started school!” My brain hurts.

“Honey,” she says, using the _Harlow is being unreasonable_ tone. “You can find another job. You work at a coffee shop. We’re not leaving until the end of next week, so you should have more than enough time to give notice. Besides,” she packs a wrapped plate into the box next to her and pushes to her feet, facing me, “you’ve been complaining about your school since you started going there. You should be happy about this.”

“I should be _happy_ that you’re trying to uproot my life?” I demand, outraged. My temples pulse, the dull headache from fifth period coming back full blast.

Mom levels a glare at me, her brown eyes stern. “You’re a child. You don’t have a life.”

“You can’t just make me quit my job! I’m in the debate club and Terry said I could be vice president this year! I am a senior—”

“You’re right!” she raises her voice to interrupt me. “You are a senior, in _high school_. You’re a minor and my daughter and you will do what I tell you to do! We are moving, Harlow.” She drags a hand down her face. “Jesus, I shouldn’t have to argue with you over this!”

“You don’t get to bully me into doing what you want anymore! I’m almost eighteen!”

“Yes! _Almost._ ” Mom makes a frustrated noise. “You know, I thought you would be happy for me. I know you’re aware I can barely afford this house anymore—let alone college for you next year. This new job pays so well, Harlow.” She steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder, pleading with her eyes for me to understand. “We can get a bigger house, you can go to a private school, and I will still be able to save up enough for you to go to college next year. This is the opportunity I’ve needed for so long… This is our chance to move on.”

My heart pounds in my ears. I blink angry tears from my eyes. “You mean this is _your_ chance to move on from _Dad_.” She gasps, but I just laugh darkly. “You’re so eager to abandon our house, our home, because you can’t wait to abandon any memory of Dad. Of course, you want to run away. That’s all you’ve done for the last four goddamn years—”

My head whips to the side, pain stinging my cheek and jaw. I blink, suddenly staring at the fridge.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that! You have no right!” she screams. I slowly turn my head back to face her. “I am the adult here and we are moving, whether you like it or not!”

My jaw clenches and my eyes sting. “You can go fuck yourself. I’m staying here!” I hike my backpack up, spin, rush through the kitchen, back to the front door. I get it open and am pounding down the porch steps before a hand closes around my wrist.

Mom yanks on my arm so hard I feel my shoulder creak. “Get your ass back here, you ungrateful brat! You don’t get to storm out whenever things don’t go your way—you’re not three anymore!”

I shove at her hand until she lets go. “You just hit me! Talk about maturity, you hypocrite.” I get down the steps and head toward the driveway.

She yells behind me, “Harlow!”

Hearing her footsteps behind me on the concrete of the driveway, I break into a sprint. She continues to yell at me, but I eventually gain enough distance that her voice fades away.

**************

I run until my legs hurt and end up sitting against a tree at the park. It’s full of little kids and their parents. A group of freshmen are skateboarding on the sidewalks nearby, but I ignore them. It’s almost five o’clock now, according to my phone, which has yet to stop ringing. Mom has tried to call me almost forty times, but I’ve ignored all of her calls.

My cheeks feel tight from dried tears and my head pulses dully. I stopped crying a few hours ago, right around the time that I admitted to myself that I didn’t handle the situation as well as I could’ve. I shouldn’t have exploded and left like I did. I know better.

The only reason I’m still sitting on the grass here is because of stubbornness and ill-advised pride. I am my father’s daughter, after all. I know I should answer Mom’s calls, should probably just get my ass back home, but I need a little more time. More time to think up an apology, to come up with some way to convince Mom that I can stay here by myself or stay with someone else, to let my brain settle.

Exhaustion weighs down my shoulders. An uncomfortable tension in my stomach and the back of my neck makes me shift on the hard ground.

My backpack—this beat-up, purple monstrosity I’ve had since middle school—sits in my lap. I pick at the patches on the front of the bag, zip and unzip the pockets for about fifteen minutes. My heart races with anxiety over the prospect of going home.

My head snaps up when someone calls my name.

“Harlow! Is that you?” Officer Price, one of my mom’s exes, walks over to me. He smiles at me, but there is tension around his mouth. “What are you doin’ here, kiddo?”

I blink up at him and slowly stand, brushing off my pants. “Just… chilling.”

He frowns at me in concern. “Your mom called me. She wants you to go home.”

I swallow my irritation. I never liked Price when he and my mom were dating. Something about his fake sympathy just pisses me off. “I know.”

“She said you haven’t been answering your phone.” He claps me on the shoulder. I try not to shiver in discomfort at the touch. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

He turns to walk toward the street, presumably where his cruiser is parked, but I hesitate and don’t follow him. “I’ll go home in a little while. I’m just going to hang out here for a bit.”

Price turns to face me, his face going from faux-concerned to stern in a split-second. This is why I’ve never trusted him—the dude’s got to have multiple personalities or something. “You know I can’t let you do that, Low. Let’s go. Your mom’s worried sick by now.”

Teeth grinding, I swipe my bag up and trudge after him.

Seated in the front seat of his squad car, I try not to fidget with my hands, my hair, my bag, the oh-shit handle. Price whistles under his breath as he drives, otherwise unwilling to speak to me. The radio in his car spews a constant stream of conversation, words mingled with numbers mingled with code speak I would never be able to understand even if I tried.

“I hear Rachel got a new job, huh?” Price says after driving for ten minutes in tense silence.

I swallow around the tightness in my throat and hum noncommittedly. “I guess.”

He glances at me. I busy myself with pulling strings from the canvas of my backpack. “I’m guessing you’re not too happy with that?”

“Whatever.” I look out the window and refuse to talk to him for the rest of the ride. He eventually gives up and seems to drive faster.

When the squad car pulls into my driveway, I stumble out before the car is even parked and slam the door. I stomp up the driveway as the front door slams open and Mom rushes outside.

“Harlow! Oh god, honey, are you okay?” She tries to touch me when I pass her on the porch stairs, but I rush past her and into the house.

Outside, I hear Mom talking to Price. “Thank you for finding her, Rich. I’m so sorry to take time out of your day.”

Price laughs that fake laugh of his. Plastic son of a bitch. “Not to worry, Rach. Just glad the kiddo’s home again.”

I escape into my room and slam and lock the door before I have to hear him try to get into Mom’s pants again.

A few minutes later I hear Mom pounding on my door and demanding I open it, but I ignore her. I put on headphones, blast music that I can’t even understand because it’s so loud, and flop facedown on my bed.

*************

I must have fallen asleep early, because when I wake up at four o’clock, I feel fully rested. It’s dark outside. My eyes are still dry and my skin feels gross because I didn’t shower last night, but overall I feel better. My headphones must’ve gotten knocked off during the night because they rest against my pillow, still blasting music. I turn it off and stumbled out of my room, in need of a shower.

Now clean and more awake, I head back into my room, closing the door softly so as to not wake Mom up. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I don’t feel like eating. I dig my laptop out of my backpack and plug it in, immediately opening _Mutiny_ and waiting patiently as the game loads.

My account inbox has four new messages. I click, eager to see who messaged me.

 ** _Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_** _You on?_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I’m starting to think that you hate me :(_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _If you’re seriously asleep right now, I will actually have to put my username to good use (be very afraid)._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _ANSWER MEEEEEEE_

I snicker and type back.

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Chill your tits, needy. I’m on now._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _MY SMOL ANGRY CHILD WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! And obsessed with my voluptuous man-boobs, are we? ;)_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Got in a fight with my mom and left. Fell asleep when I got back. (And of course, I’m obsessed with your man-boobs. Why else would I talk to you if not for your body?)_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _:( Are you ok? What was the fight about???_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _She got a new job. We’re moving. I have to switch schools, quit my job, and I only have like two weeks until we move. And she told me TODAY ffs._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Man… that sucks. She really only told you just now? What happened that you left, though??? You seem to be pretty level-headed most of the time…_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I said some stupid shit. Said she was running away from Dad. Before you say it—I already feel like shit. She slapped me (lowkey still pissed about that, but I kinda deserved it). I left after that. Went to the park, cried a little, normal day-in-the-life LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Dino… I don’t know where to start. What you said wasn’t okay, but she has no right to hit you. If she does it again, tell me IMMEDIATELY._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _LOL and what would you do?? Come across the fucking country to defend my honor??! LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I would for you._

I blink at my screen, at his simple reply. A frown tugs at my mouth even as the words spread warmth through my chest.

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I get that we’re friends, but we don’t even know each other’s real names. Or addresses. Or real personalities._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I would like to get to know you. In real life._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO SOUND SO CREEPY OMFG_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I SWEAR I’M NOT STALKING YOU OR ANYTHING!!!! I JUST LIKE YOU A LOT._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _IN A FRIEND WAY. TOTALLY PLATONIC._

At the succession of messages, I laugh.

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _You’re killing me. Like I’m actually dying. Did you have an aneurism?? LOLol_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _And I would like to get to know you better too. It’s just hard… I mean, I still have a suspicion that you’re actually a human-sized pigeon who eats people and shits pennies. Or an FBI agent. Or some Matrix hybrid of both._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _You…. I could be a forty-year-old creep for all you know, and you immediately assume that I am a PIGOEN. A pigeon. Who eats people._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Quick question: Were you dropped on your head as an infant, and if so, do you need assistance to the nearest hospital? LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Ooh! The whole “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” schtick. Nice ;)_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Just call me B. It’s close enough to the real thing._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Excellent! Now that I know your name (close enough), I can unveil my evil plot to destroy you muahahahaha!!!!_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Since we’re going with single letter aliases now, call me H._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _H is my new favorite letter. ;)_

I gawp at the screen for a long time. A low, overwhelmed squeal escapes my lips. I grin madly, rocking back and forth in my desk chair. I do a little excited dance, something that should never be seen in the light of day, lest I die from embarrassment.

It’s just me and _B_ right now, though. I say his name out loud, feeling happy to finally have something to put to the username I’ve been talking to for the six months.

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Did I just creep you out??? LOL_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I need a better mental picture, B. What do you look like? (for stalking purposes, nothing else) I’m imagining a three-foot midget with bright orange hair and a tendency to wear green clothes. Oh! And one who has an odd obsession with gold…_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _A leprechaun. You just told me that you think I’m a leprechaun. Nice, H. REALLY nice._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I try my best ;)_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I don’t know if I should tell you… you might combust from hotness overload ;)_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I’m sure that your fat rolls are drool worthy. You didn’t lie that you’re in high school, right?_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I’ve never lied to you. I’m a senior. And how DARE you?! I have exactly zero fat rolls to speak of._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Suuuuuuuure. Riiiiiiiight._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I don’t like you very much right now :(_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Poor baby :( LOL_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Since you’re so hesitant to tell me what you look like, I’ll start. I have boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, boring pale skin, and a really shitty attitude._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _My dream woman!!! LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Since you told me what you look like so descriptively LOL… I have black hair. It’s too long right now. I’ll have to cut it before football starts or coach will have my ass. My eyes are boring brown too. I’m kind of tan right now??? I got sunburned a lot over summer. I have a really shitty attitude too._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _LOL we’re basically the same person_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _You never told me you played football???_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Damn, my secret is out!! Now you won’t talk to me anymore :( LOL_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Damn right I won’t. Can’t let people know I’m associating with a *shudders* football player. It would destroy my reputation._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _XD_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Do you want to actually play Mutiny while we’re on here? I think we’ve been talking for like an hour._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Hoard mode??? I need to slaughter some zombies._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Done and done. I’ll link you to the server._


	2. Those Bumfuck Ski Towns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2. Enjoy!

The next week passes too quickly. The Tuesday morning after my big blow up—which I will wholeheartedly admit was out of line and immature—Mom sat me down for a long talk. I could tell she was disappointed in how I’d acted, and I’d apologized quietly, but she refused to even consider me staying behind in Maine.

I turned in my roughly week-and-a-half’s notice at the coffee shop later that same day. My boss, a balding man in his forties who liked to be called ‘Big D,’ was less than enthused.

He essentially lectured me for half and hour about how unprofessional I was and how I would have trouble getting another job, because he wouldn’t give me a recommendation. I took the verbal beating without saying such—it wouldn’t help anyway—and when I left to go back home Tuesday night, I may or may not have cried on the walk home.

No one needs to know that.

Mom, obviously feeling guilty for destroying what little life I have, has been oddly tense recently. We packed up the entire kitchen and have been eating out of disposable plates and bowls for the last two nights. It’s Sunday night, five days before we make the horrid trip to Colorado, and our house looks… empty.

The garage is pack completely full of boxes. My room looks bare and sad. The family room, which used to house Dad’s extensive record collection, has been carefully packed up and is waiting with the contents of our kitchen and most of the rest of the house in the garage.

“Harlow, do you want pizza or Chinese?” Mom calls from the kitchen, where she is bent over the old landline, takeout menus spread before her on the counter.

I glance over the back of the couch, nausea hitting me at the thought of greasy food. “Can’t we make something here?”

Mom sighs in irritation. “All of the dishes are packed up. Unless you want a sandwich, we’re getting takeout.”

I flick the tv off and push up from the couch. “I’ll make a sandwich.” I walk past the kitchen, intending to go hide out in my room for the rest of the night.

Mom walks out of the kitchen behind me. “Don’t be like this, Low.” Her tone is disappointed again, but I can tell that she’s actually angry with me. _Me._

I open my door and say without looking back, “I’m not _being like_ anything.” I don’t bother with turning on the light, instead feeling through the darkness toward my desk chair. I sit down heavily, mind racing. As my laptop boots up, a slew of depressing thoughts hits me like a brick.

A moving truck is coming to pick up the essential contents of our house tomorrow morning while I’m at school. They’re taking everything except for our beds, pretty much. I get to keep one suitcase full of clothes and bathroom stuff, some books that will fit into my backpack, and my laptop. The couch is going, the tv is going, and the fifty-three moving boxes piled in the garage are going. The washer and dryer are staying here—thankfully—so I’ll be able to do laundry before we leave on Friday, but other than that, all of our belongings, the essentials that made this house _home_ , will be shipped across the country.

Thinking about it, I don’t even know where in Colorado we’re moving to. Probably some shitty little ski town where everyone smokes weed and only talks about hiking. Does Colorado have hillbillies? I bet it does. I bet Colorado is shitty as shitty can be. Probably filled with wannabe valley girls and dudes who don’t know how to cut their fucking hair.

Laptop booted up, I go to Google. Searching Colorado brings up a bunch of boring shit—mostly about the nature there, the mountains, something called Rocky Mountain Oysters (which I will not be trying).

Honestly, Colorado does look like a beautiful place to live. Lots of mountains and lakes and wildlife. Nothing I haven’t seen in Maine.

I’m not worried about the state itself—no, I’m more worried about the people. Mom has told me stories of her business trips to Colorado, and even though she tries to make everything seem glamorous, even though she tries to make the people sound really nice, I have one problem:

I don’t care to get to know them. I don’t want to associate with anyone from Colorado on principle—not because the people are all that bad, but because if I get to know the people in Colorado, I would be giving in to the total annihilation of my life _here_.

And like hell am I going to do that. Call me petty, but I’m going to be miserable and take everyone down with me. I am my father’s daughter. 

Then, there’s the issue of actually getting to Colorado. Forget the fucking wildlife, Mom and I are going to be living in some strange dude’s house until we get our own place to live. And based on what I’ve found about housing prices in Colorado, that’s going to take a while.

Mom will have some extra money to start off with because she’s already sold her car, but until the house sells here, she won’t be able to get another mortgage. We’ll be living in a shitty apartment until I go to college, mark my words.

A message from _Mutiny_ tells me that B is on.

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Me. You. Campaign._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Would you be pissed if I told you that I’m really not feeling up for it tonight?_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _What’s wrong?_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Moving truck’s coming tomorrow. I still have to go to school (as if I’m going to learn anything!!!!). We leave on fucking Friday, and my mom is still insisting I go to school. She’s insane._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Learning is important! And at least you can just take this week easy—I highly doubt any of your teachers expect you to try LOL_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _… You’re supposed to be on my side…. >:{_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I’m just trying to be optimistic. You should try it. Come on, don’t try to tell me you’re not excited about ANYTHING to do with moving._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Well, I did find something on Google about Rocky Mountain Oysters… ever heard of them?_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Um…. Yeah I have. LOL. Tried one once—not my favorite._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _You have?! What did it taste like?_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Not good. I mean, the flavor wasn’t all that bad, but the texture was kinda…. Nasty._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a bull testicles guy._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Well, I have been told a certain part of my anatomy is proportionate to a bull’s—_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _You know, I’m just not going to go there. I’ll save both of us the nightmares._

I blush from the implication.

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Please do. That’s just TMI XD_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Out of curiosity, I only know of one state where Rocky Mountain Oysters are a thing… Is that actually where you’re moving?_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Why? Planning on stalking me???_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _It’s like you think I haven’t been creepily staring at you while you sleep for the last six months. (I’m scoffing, just so you know.)_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Okay, Edward. Do you sparkle in the sunshine too? LOL_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Yeah, I’m moving to CO. Don’t know where, but I’m hoping it’s not one of those bumfuck ski towns. I deal with enough potheads where I live now._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Some of the smaller towns are kind of shitty, but most places are pretty cool. Lots of outdoors stuff to do._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _You sound like my mom LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _…. I kind of wish that we knew each other better right now. I have so much shit I want to tell you, but there’s still this thought in the back of my mind that you’re not actually a girl, or in high school, and that you’re actually a fifty-year-old creep…_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I assure you, I am very female. And very much in high school. I think my maturity level is telling LOL_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _True. I don’t know any adult women who still laugh at dick jokes._

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _DICKS ARE JUST SO FUNNY, OKAY?! THEY LOOK LIKE SLUGS—OR MUSHROOMS_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Sexy mushrooms?_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Obviously._

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I have something to tell you, H, but I think I’ll wait a little bit. Just so I can be sure…_

 **_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Tease ;)_

 **_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _You know it, baby ;)_

*****************

On Monday morning, I walk to the bus stop with a heavy heart and heavier limbs. I stayed up until two o’clock this morning talking to B about anything and everything. I still never found out what he wanted to tell me—the asshole wouldn’t budge no matter how many times I asked—but I feel calmer this morning. B is magical in his ability to make me feel better.

The school day passes quickly. I barely remember talking to anyone, let alone what any of my teachers said. There was supposed to be a really big project in my advanced physics class, but since it’s only the second week of school and I’m leaving at the end of the week, all of my teachers just had me sit at my desk and do nothing.

It. Was. Boring.

Mom texted me around noon and let me know that the moving truck had just left. She said that she’d sent our bed frames and my desk with the movers, but that we’d buy new mattresses when we get our own place in Colorado. Apparently, her friend—Bradly or something—has a really big house and more than enough guest bedrooms for us.

When I get back from school, brain fried from boredom, itching to get out of my skin, Mom is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, talking to someone on the phone.

“Yes, we’ll need a ten-foot unit,” she says, waving at me absentmindedly. I drop my backpack and lean against the wall near the fireplace, looking around at the empty room. There are divots in the carpet from where the couch had been. The carpet is really dusty where the tv stand once was. “And you said that would be $20 a month?”

I zone out, picking at the worn carpet. The last time it had been replaced was before I was born. Dad did it himself, apparently. He was good at things like that. He single-handedly did our roof only two years before he was diagnosed. I remember handing him individual roofing tiles and packs of staples. I accidentally stepped on a roofing nail during that project; it had fallen off the roof when Dad took the old tiles off. The nail went straight into my heel and I had to go to the emergency room for stitches and a tetanus shot. Dad had gotten me ice-cream on the way home as an apology, saying, “Don’t tell Mom, all right? We don’t tell her until _after_ the roof is done.”

She had been on a business trip in Colorado during that time. Dad didn’t want to worry her and make her come back home. Besides, my heel was fine. I didn’t even have a scar, anymore. Mom had been so surprised at the roof when she got back that she cried. Dad and I managed to downplay my injury and I don’t think he ever told Mom how serious it was. I know he told her I’d gone to the emergency room, but by the time she’d gotten back from her business trip, my stitches had dissolved, and I wasn’t in pain anymore.

That was a secret Dad and I shared. I plan to keep it for him still.

“Jesus, those people are thieves!” Mom exclaims, finally done with the call. “$20 a month, plus insurance and security fees. Sheesh. I told him I’d have to think about it, but maybe there’s a cheaper storage unit somewhere…” She gets to her feet, complaining about her knees. “I can’t wait to have furniture again. Okay, now that that’s done—how was school?” She wanders into the kitchen.

“It was stupid. I still don’t know why I have to go.” I scowl at the empty area where our dining table used to be.

“Just bear with it for a few more days, honey.” Mom pats my shoulder and digs around in the mostly empty fridge. “We have about half a gallon of milk to drink before Friday, some cheese, eggs, and yogurt. I threw out the veggies this morning—they were getting fuzzy.” She points to a singular banana on the counter. “That’s the last of our fruit, and I’m not buying more until we get to Vail, so eat up. I had the movers leave the microwave—we can just get a new one.”

I nudge the banana with my finger, thinking that it probably should’ve been tossed out too. It’s just borderline too brown for my taste. “When is the truck supposed to get there? Are we going to beat it since we’re flying?”

Mom hums. “I was told it could take up to a full week for shipping, and I paid extra for insurance, so it should get there next Monday or Tuesday at the latest.”

I sigh. “Okay. Where did you say we’re going, again?”

Mom brightens. “It’s a town called Vail. Really quaint and cute. Not many people.”

“Is it a ski town?” I ask sarcastically, not expecting her to excitedly answer me.

“Yes! Isn’t it great? They have slopes that are open most months of the year because it stays so cold. And the houses there are beautiful—little ski lodges and everything!”

I blink at her, dumbfounded. “You’re not serious, right? We are _not_ moving to a ski town.”

Mom frowns. “Uh, yeah we are. What’s your problem now, Harlow?”

“Maybe the fact that we’re going to be surrounded by potheads and hippies who don’t shower!” I exclaim. Doesn’t she know that ski towns are the worst (based on my research, as I’ve never been to a ski town).

Mom snorts. “You are too much, girly. If it will make you feel any better,” she pours some milk into a disposable cup, “Vail is a very wealthy town. Most of the people who live there year-round are extremely well off financially.”

My eyes narrow on her, taking in the way she avoids my eyes. “Then why in the hell are _we_ moving there? We’re not rich—not even close.”

“I told you—the job I got pays very well.”

I nod slowly. “That’s right. You did say that.” I pause and pick at the banana. “And, pray tell, exactly what is this job, _mother_? You never said.” I raise an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop it. I got hired as an administrative assistant for a local attorney there. You know Bryant—”

“You’re working for _Bryant_? I thought we were just staying with that guy until we can get a house.” Something is not adding up.

“We are staying with him, but he also hired me.”

I breathe deeply and pace across the empty floor where the table used to be. “Let me get this right. You know this man how?”

“Through business conferences. You know this. We’ve become friends.”

My feet thud on the floor as I walk. “Okay, so you know him through _conferences_. Got it. And yet he somehow offered you a job? And you accepted?”

“Bryant is a very reputable attorney in Colorado, Harlow,” she defends, crossing her arms and scowling at me. “He offered me a position because he knows my work ethic.”

“Work ethic,” I seethe. “And what else does he know that he is allowing you to _live_ with him? Does he know that you have a kid—me?” I thrust a finger at my own chest. “Does his wife know that he’s allowing another woman and her kid to live with him? No man would do that!”

Mom hisses, “It is none of your business, but for your information, his wife is dead. He said it would be fine until I can afford a place.”

I laugh hilariously. “You must be delusional! No man would allow one of his employees to live with him unless he’s a total creep!”

“Bryant is a very good man, Harlow! Stop commenting on things you have no knowledge of!” She sounds pissed off now, a vein in her neck pulsing. Her hands are fisted, but she stays on the other side of the counter.

“I’ll bet he is!” I scoff in disbelief. “Let me guess, he’s also old and wrinkly and was _oh so accommodating_ when you told him you had nowhere to stay! How stupid are you?”

“Don’t you speak to me like that!” she yells. “Bryant is just helping us out! Don’t deflect your gross assumptions onto him.”

I am panting now. I stop pacing and spread my arms. “Then what the hell is his agenda? Mom! This isn’t normal—you have to see that!”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a second. “Bryant understands our situation. He has kids of his own—two boys. He really is just helping me.” When she looks at me, her eyes are hurt and angry. “Why do you always assume I can’t make decisions for myself? Huh? What happened to you that you don’t trust me anymore?” Tears glaze over her eyes and she sniffs.

My stomach sinks and I have to stare at the counter for a long moment. “I don’t think you realize that people could hurt you. You’re always so eager to take people for their word—especially men!”

“You know that’s not true, Harlow,” she mumbles tiredly, as if she’s tired of me.

“No, it is true! Ever since Dad died, you’ve thrown yourself at men left and right—and none of them have been good enough! Just look at that asshole Price—he gave you like seven tickets after you broke up with him!” I hate that prick, but he’s not even the worse out of the men she’s dated since Dad died.

“He gave me _four_ , and that’s because I was speeding.” Mom makes a frustrated sound. “Bryant isn’t like that, anyway. He just understands what I’m going through and what _you’re_ going through.”

“He might not be such a nice guy, Mom… He must want something from you.”

She nods. “You’re right. He wants me to _work_ for him and to not go to financial ruin by moving to one of the most expensive states in the country.”

I shake my head and stare at her. Something in her eyes, something in the way she shifts her gaze everywhere but my face, tells me that she’s hiding something.

First B, now Mom. Why does nobody trust _me_? Why can’t I know anything?

The thought brings a lump to my throat and to cope, I leave the kitchen. I shouldn’t care so much.

I won’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, leave kudos, etc. if you have enjoyed the story so far or if you have any suggestions. It is a work in progress, but I have a lot planned *evil laugh*. Next chapter will really get things rolling (meeting Bryant, his sons, more teenage drama). Thank you as always for reading!!! :)


	3. There is No Explanation for Immaturity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> One note I need to make for this story: I am very aware that Harlow comes across as extremely selfish and immature in the beginning. Please remember that she is a teenager and character growth is a big deal. I am trying to portray her as a teenager who is not the best at coping with her situation--this does not mean that her behavior is acceptable, but she is human. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Go East, I’ll cover the asylum._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Be careful. There’s a hoard near the abandoned well._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Roger._

I maneuver my avatar through a weeded area, the screen darkening as virtual rain pours down. I hum under my breath as I navigate the woods, heading toward a vantage point. The loud clicking of my keyboard and mouse sounds through my basically empty room. The only thing left is my bed, and it’s sat on the floor. The ugly blue suitcase with the remainder of my belongings sits zipped up on the floor, my backpack propped up against it. I avoid acknowledging my near future, instead focusing on _Mutiny._

B and I have been at it for almost three hours. We’ve captured an entire country this time, managed to kill opposing teams on this server. Players are respawning all over the map, but B and I have a mission this morning: to distract me.

Mom and I have to get into a taxi in an hour. It’s Friday morning, otherwise known as the day from hell, otherwise known as the worst day of my fucking life.

Well… not quite. The day Dad died was pretty bad. This is a close second.

I secure the East side of the map—an abandoned grocery store. I only have to take out a few rival players and some zombies before I set the store as our base.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Base secured._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Perfect timing. I’m going to have to go—I have practice in like fifteen minutes._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Did you seriously stay up all night just to distract me?_

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Of course. You’re stressed. Today’s going to kick my ass, though—I have football practice before AND after school KMPLS_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _LOL I’m a bad person BC I don’t feel bad for you at all._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Sadist. I’m leaving. Let me know when you get off the plane._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I’ll try to get on Mutiny tonight. If I don’t die in a tragic plane crash…_

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _You better not. I still haven’t sold your organs for profit on the black market._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Funny that you assume I have organs…_

I shut down my laptop and pack it, along with its charger, into my backpack. I grab the blankets and sheets off my bed, waddling out into the living room with my arms full. Mom sits on the ground, shoving her own bedding into an extra suitcase. It’s the black one that Dad always used.

“Here.” I drop my bedding next to her.

She shoots me a withering glare, taking a sheet and folding it tightly. “Thank you so much, child. You are ever helpful.”

Flashing her a cheeky smile, I chirp, “Anytime.” I take note of her outfit. She’s wearing a very tight black dress shirt—it shows so much cleavage I’m surprised she’s not cold. She’s wearing a pencil skirt, too. I rarely see her dress like this for work, let alone a flight. “Aren’t you going to be uncomfortable in that? The flight is like ten hours long.”

She glances down at her shirt and waves a hand. “I’m just trying to look nice. Bryant’s picking us up and I don’t think showing up in sweatpants would be very professional in front of my new employer.” She laughs.

I don’t think it’s funny, but I guess if she thinks that’s a professional outfit, who am I to judge. As of last week, I am unemployed. Mom’s suitcase and her purse are stacked next to the front door. “Did you call a taxi yet?”

Mom shakes her head. “Officer Price is going to drop us off at the terminal.”

I groan and go back to my room to grab my suitcase and backpack without comment. I fucking hate that guy.

*************

Price drops us off at the airport with an inappropriately tight hug for mom and an unwelcome pat on the shoulder for me. Mom and I drag our suitcases up to the curb back-check, where we drop everything off except for my backpack and Mom’s purse. We drag our feet through security, and then once at our gate, Mom buys us bottles of soda and some snacks. Our flight isn’t set to board for another half-hour, so I pull out my phone, plug in headphones, and try to forget reality for a while.

*************

I’ve never been on a plane before, but I’ve seen movies, so I know what to expect. The flight attendants are nice enough, the small cups of soda are nice, but I have one critique:

Why in the _fuck_ is the food slimy? I think it was supposed to be a sandwich to tide me over on the eight-hour flight from Portland International Airport to Denver International Airport, but it smelled like feet and tasted like an odd mixture of paper towel and cardboard. Gordon Ramsay would not approve.

Mom spends basically the entire flight fidgeting in her seat. She dozes off for maybe an hour or two after “lunch,” but she spends the rest of her time trying to talk over the loudness of the flight. She’s so excited to show me the house, to teach me how to ski, to see my new school.

She enrolled me at some private academy for rich pricks near Vail. Apparently, Bryant includes private school tuition in his salary offerings.

I spend the entire flight to Denver, Colorado, curled up against the window, listening to music, and mourning the fact that I don’t have B’s number. It’s not like I could text him while on the plane, but it would be nice. He’s the only person I don’t regularly fantasize about decapitating.

We switch flights in Denver, to a smaller plane that is supposed to take us directly to Vail, where Bryant will pick us up. As our plane lands at the Eagle County National Airport, I feel anxiety grip me with its cold, dead fingers.

“Oh, this will be so great, Low,” Mom purrs, bouncing in her seat as we wait for the seat-belt sign to flicker off. “You’re going to love it here, I just know it!”

Jaw clenching, I tug my headphones away and stand when everyone else on the plane does. I want to get off this claustrophobic death trap. “I’ve been thinking,” I say as Mom leads the way into the isle.

“Hm?” she asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“I want a dog.”

Mom shuffles off of the plane and into the tunnel that’ll lead us into the airport. She waits for me and then frowns. “Well, I’m not sure that’s possible. You know we’re staying with Bryant right now—”

“I mean after we get our own place.” I swipe hair off of my forehead. I feel clammy and gross from sitting all day. My skin feels dry and my hair is oddly frizzy for some reason. “You never let me get a dog in Maine, but I want one now.”

Mom leads the way through the airport. It vaguely registers to me that she’s been here many times before for conferences. “That might not be possible, honey.”

She walks ahead of me. I wish she would look at me. “Why?” I demand.

She goes into the women’s restrooms and I follow. She looks back at me before she disappears into a stall. “Well,” she says hesitantly through the stall. “I can’t make any promises. We’re staying with Bryant right now, but when we move out, we might not be allowed to have pets.”

I wait at the sinks and wash my face and hands. The cool water makes me feel better. “A lot of rental houses and apartments allow pets.” Mom exits the stall, sighing. She washes her hands and then goes about pulling out a makeup kit. I frown as she puts on fresh concealer, eyeliner, lipstick. I’ve never seen her wear so much makeup before and it’s disconcerting. 

“Well, the thing is…” She trails off, avoiding my eyes in the mirror.

“Mom.” I’m not catching on to something. “What are you dancing around?”

Mom exhales deeply and then makes eye contact with me. “Okay. So… I may or may not have glazed over a little, tiny detail…”

“What?” I urge, a sinking feeling in my gut.

Mom presses her lips together, fresh lipstick glistening. “I told you that Bryant’s wife is deceased, right?” When I nod, she continues. “Well, he and I are in similar situations—he’s a single parent too! And we’ve really gotten close over the years…”

It clicks. “You’re fucking him.”

“Harlow Pace!” she scolds. “I am not _fucking_ him. We are in a relationship.”

I scoff. “Right. Then what was that big show you put on earlier this week about him having _no ulterior motives_?! You fucking lied!”

Her eyes, brown like my own, glimmer with frustration. “I didn’t lie. I just felt that it wasn’t an important detail. I don’t owe you explanations for every aspect of my life, Harlow. You’re my daughter, not my keeper.” She turns to the mirror, fluffing her hair.

The revealing shirt makes sense now. I sneer. “And I’m assuming that you dressed like that just to impress your employer. Because you’re not sleeping with him at all.”

“Don’t try to shame me for dressing how I want.” Mom glares at me and settles her purse over one shoulder. “I’m an adult. You’re a child. You just get to go along for the ride, so keep your comments to yourself. Let’s go.”

I roll my eyes but follow her out of the restrooms. We go down a singular escalator—Eagle County National Airport is dinky—and then wait in the in the baggage claim area for a few minutes. I sit on a bench next to Mom, disgust turning my stomach over.

She essentially just revealed that she uprooted our entire lives because she can’t keep her legs closed. I’m not an adult and have exactly zero experience with sex, but even I know that moving across the country to work for and live with a guy you’re dating is ill-advised.

Especially when you have a kid.

“Rachel!” a deep voice exclaims, drawing my attention. A well-dressed man in a suit is walking toward us. He has a bouquet of flowers in one hand and is waving with the other.

Mom lets out this foreign, high-pitched sound and vaults herself at the man. “Bryant!” She presses her lips to his, arms wrapping around his neck.

The man is obviously surprised, but he kisses her back, holding the bouquet away. “It’s nice to see you too.” He chuckles, looking down at Mom. He has very dark, black hair and light grey eyes. Stubble shadows his jaw in an admittedly attractive way. He looks very fit, like he regularly exercises. His jaw could cut diamonds. I would find him drool worthy, if not for a) the fact that he’s all over my mom, and b) the fact that he’s probably in his fifties.

I’m all for older men, but that’s almost retired-old.

She gasps at the flowers. “Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

“I wanted to.” Bryant sees me standing awkwardly behind Mom a few feet away. He smiles at me and moves Mom to the side gently. He extends his hand to me. “You must be Harlow. I’m Bryant Harper. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I look up at him and reluctantly take his hand. My first instinct is to be mean to him, but given that he’s not just Mom’s boss but her… potential boyfriend… I act like a decent human being and offer him a small smile. “Nice to meet you too…”

“My sons are still in school right now, but you’ll meet them later. They’re both in high school, too.” Bryant drapes an arm around Mom’s waist, and she giggles.

I try not to frown, but I know that I’m probably glaring daggers into the arm. I’ve never seen her act so… fake. It’s weird. Like she’s a totally different person.

“You girls must be exhausted. Let’s go get your bags and get you home.” Bryant leads mom to the conveyor belt, which is starting to offload suitcases from our plane. I follow slowly behind them, unsure how to process anything.

*************

Eagle County National Airport is apparently in a town called Gypsum, which is roughly forty minutes away from Vail. Walking out of the airport and to Bryant’s shiny black SUV is an experience: in Portland, its humid and relatively warm right now. Colorado is dry as dry can be, but a little cold even though it’s still technically summer.

Seeing mountains in every direction is claustrophobic but comforting for some reason. On the peaks of some mountains, I can still see snow. The farther we drive up to Vail, I notice evergreen trees and old railroad tracks.

“Colorado is a mining state, so most of these small towns have mining history of some sort. If you want, we could go visit some of the mines sometime—the Argo Gold Mine in Idaho Springs is my favorite, but it is a bit of a drive from here,” Bryant says when I comment on a structure to the side of the highway. It looks like an old wooden building that’s falling apart. Apparently, it used to be an old mining site.

“That would be fun, right, Harlow?” Mom asks from the front seat. I slouch in my seat and hum noncommittally. The last thing I’m interested in is visiting some decrepit hole in the ground. No thanks.

It’s almost five o’clock by the time we pass a bunch of huge houses and pull up a long driveway. Bryant pulls the SUV into a massive garage to the side of a house that looks like it’s at least three stories tall. The exterior is all wood and stone—it looks like a massive cabin with a modern twist. The house is surrounded by evergreen trees, but from what I can see, a small lake is behind the house and what look like jet skis are tied near a dock.

“Here we are,” Bryant says, unbuckling his seat-belt and getting out of the SUV. He goes around the back and starts pulling our suitcases out. “We’ll take these to the rooms first thing, then we can see about getting you girls some food. I can’t imagine airplane food is very good.”

“You’ve got that right,” I mutter, taking my suitcase. “I wouldn’t even feed a dog that shit.”

Bryant laughs while Mom exclaims, “Harlow! Language.”

She apologizes for my behavior—as if I’m a toddler—and follows Bryant up a set of steps and into the house. Bryant carries Dad’s suitcase, which holds our bedding and extra towels. Something twists in my chest at the sight of a stranger touching things that are inherently _Dad’s_.

The interior of the house is very modern. Everything is sleek and monochrome. Expensive. I feel like I’m going to break anything that I touch, so I carefully drag my suitcase behind me as Bryant gives us a basic tour of the first, second, and third floors. There are living rooms and gaming rooms and a theatre and an entire wing of bedrooms.

Bryant shows me to a guest bedroom on the second floor with the instructions to make myself at home. He and Mom wander off into the house, leaving me alone in a bedroom so bare of any personality, I could imagine it in some home décor magazine.

I drop the suitcase near the door, which I firmly shut, and then I sit down on the massive bed in the center of the room. It’s a queen, I think. Much bigger than the twin I’ve had my whole life. I investigate the room and discover that I have my own bathroom and a walk in closet. For however long Mom and I are staying here, I might as well enjoy the luxury of having so much space. This room isn’t outrageously sized like some of the wealthy kids used to have back around Portland, but Bryant’s entire life screams wealth.

I feel like an intruder.

I lock the door to my room and decide to shower. I can still feel the dry airplane air on my skin and it’s making me itch.

************

Dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair dripping moisture down my spine, I sit down on the bed in my room and drag my laptop over my knees. I doubt that B is done with school, but I message him anyway.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I’m here. I hate flying._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _My mom lied, too. She’s dating the guy we’re staying with. We’re probably going to have to find another place to live soon, though, because last time she dated someone and tried living with him, she broke up with him two weeks after he moved in._

Price deserved it.

B doesn’t respond, so I assume he’s still either in school or at football practice. I’m not sure what time-zone he lives in, but it’s got to be close to Colorado’s.

I mess around on _Mutiny_ for an hour or two, killing zombies and rival players, sabotaging team missions and looting mission bases. I understand why very few people want to play with me on this platform. I’ve become somewhat of an outcast. Because I’m an asshole.

B still hasn’t logged on by the time Mom knocks on my door and comes in.

“Really, Harlow?” she asks. “We got here not even three hours ago and you’re back to wasting all your time on that stupid device?”

I hum distractedly, switching my weapon to an axe and hacking away at a building. Anything to look busy.

Mom is silent for a long moment. “Turn that thing off and come downstairs. Bryant’s sons just got back and you need to meet them.”

“I don’t want to meet them.” I clench my jaw. Teenage boys are stupid. All except for B.

“You don’t have a choice.” Mom slams my laptop closed, making me yelp as she almost crushes my fingers.

“Jesus fuck! Fine.” I shove my laptop to the bed next to me and stand.

Mom crosses her arms over her chest. She’s still wearing that gross shirt. I can see her tits and it’s not pretty. “You should change into something more decent.”

I shake my head and scoff, dragging my damp hair off of the back of my neck and into a ponytail. “No. I have nobody to impress here. Besides, I’m sure your sugar daddy will understand.” I turn to the door.

She grabs ahold of my bicep and squeezes. I wince. “Don’t start again, Harlow. I mean it. He is my _employer_ —”

“Who you’re fucking.” I brush her hand off. “Worry not, mother dearest. I won’t embarrass you…” I open the door and glance over my shoulder, lip curling. “Much.”

“Harlow,” she warns, as I walk down the hall.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Bryant is fussing over a huge stack of pizza boxes. He has a bunch of plates and sodas set out on the counter and smiles when he sees me.

“There she is! Thought we lost you.” He points to the dining table, which is sleek and white and huge. “Have a seat. The boys are getting changed, but they’ll be here soon. I never have to worry about them refusing food.” He laughs.

I hesitantly seat myself at the far side of the table, watching as Mom enters the kitchen and starts putting pizza slices on long serving trays. Bryant brings over a big bucket of bottled sodas and water.

Not knowing what to do, I pull my phone out and mindlessly flip through social media. There are so many memes and so little time.

Footsteps near the entrance of the kitchen draw my eyes up. In clambers a boy, then two, then three more. The first two look similar, both with black hair and similar heights, while the other three range from blond to redheaded. All of the boys are tall and very muscular. None of them seem to notice me, too focused on loudly exclaiming about the food and thanking Bryant for being their savior.

My stomach drops to my feet and I sink down in my chair, hoping to become invisible. I hate teenage boys—they’re like a different species. Too focused on their dicks and their acne.

Mom shoos the boys to the table. “Just have a seat. We have everything set out already.”

One of the boys, the redhead, whistles obnoxiously. “Damn, Rachel. Looking fine as always.”

I sit up straight, fury simmering lowly.

Bryant scowls. “Knock it off, Jax. Sit your ass down.”

Jax grins. “Sorry, didn’t mean to encroach on your woman.” He and the blond boy laugh, sitting at the table on the end farthest from me.

“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Pace,” a boy with brown hair that covers his eyes says politely. He smiles slightly at my mom and sits next to the redhead.

I wonder how many times Mom has met these people.

“You too, Adrian. How are college applications coming?” Mom asks, taking a seat next to me. I clench my hands into fists on the table and keep my head down.

“They’re okay. I can’t submit anything until January, but my guidance counselor is putting in a good word.” Adrian grabs a bottled water and twists the cap off.

Bryant sits down on Mom’s other side and says, “That’s great, kid. Maybe you could encourage my sons to start thinking ahead as well? These two assholes haven’t even looked into applying yet.” He thrusts his thumb at the black haired boys who are slowly seating themselves at the table, one next to Bryant and the other right across from me.

I stare at my plate and don’t acknowledge him. I don’t even look at his face—wouldn’t be able to tell you what anyone in this room looks like, really.

The boy across from me speaks, his voice deep. “Adrian’s just doing everything early because he has anxiety.”

“Does that mean you’ve thought about college then?” Bryant asks.

The guy scoffs, leaning his elbows onto the table and hunching over. I see his fingers tap repetitively on the table. “Nah. I’m just going to mooch off of you until you die, old man.”

Everyone laughs, Mom giggling girlishly. I cringe at the sound. At this point, I’m staring so hard down at the table that my neck twinges.

“Well, now that everyone is here— _finally_ ,” Bryant coughs pointedly, “I guess introductions are due. You all remember my girlfriend Rachel.”

My head snaps up and I stare at the side of Mom’s face. I know she said they were together, but there’s a big difference between saying you’re “together,” and saying you’re “together” and using titles. I didn’t think they were that serious.

How long has this been going on? I almost ask the question. Almost.

“It’s nice to see you all again.” Mom smiles around the table. I glance around. The five boys offer tense smiles, but they all seem just about as uncomfortable as I am.

Except for one.

The boy across from me glares daggers at my mom, jaw clenched. I blink hard and look away from him. His eyes are very dark, almost as black as his hair. He resembled Bryant, with his defined jaw and shadowy stubble. He has longer hair that wildly frames his temples and cheekbones.

He looks pissed.

“And this is Rachel’s daughter, Harlow. They’ll be staying with us for a while, so be nice.” Bryant directs the last part at the boy across from me, who scoffs and slouches back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

My eyes stray to his arms. Thickly muscled, veiny, biceps almost bursting out of a t-shirt. His collarbones poke out the neck of his shirt and his neck is muscled as well. I can smell his cologne from where I’m sitting, something fresh and spicy, almost minty. My eyes flicker up to his face to find him looking right at me. He quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head back in challenge.

I narrow my eyes and do the only thing I can. I flip him off. Just subtly, lifting my hand from the table for only a second before putting it back down. Mom doesn’t notice.

The boy does. His eyes go wide and his mouth parts in shock.

“What the…” he mutters, sitting straighter. He looks at me oddly.

I clench my jaw and try to raise an eyebrow back at him, but only succeed in raising both. Whatever. I jut my chin at him. “Bring it, bitch boy.” His eyes ignite with fire.

It’s the first time I’ve talked since I sat at the table, and Mom is obviously surprised. Her head whips toward me, eyes horrified. “Harlow Pace! What did you just say?”

I push back from the table. “Chill out.” I clamp a hand on her shoulder and lean down to her ear. “He won’t fire you.” I slide a look at Bryant, whose brow is furrowed in confusion. “Just suck his dick and he’ll forget this ever happened.”

I turn to leave, walking out of the kitchen with my head held high and my heart racing. I’m a suicidal idiot. I must be. There’s no explanation for what I just did.

I don’t even make it to the door before Mom has ahold of my arm. I yank it out of her grip before she can get a good hold. I’m tired of her manhandling me. It’s been happening far too often the last two weeks.

Her cheeks are flushed deep red and she looks like she could murder me right now. Or start crying. “What the hell is your problem?” she hisses, leaning close to my face.

I hear a chair scrape back from the table and snort. “You. You’re my problem.” Over her shoulder, I see Bryant nearing. “You can’t seriously think that I’m just going to sit around and have a meal with you and your new family? Please.”

“You are behaving like a child and I will ground you for the rest of your life, Harlow,” she threatens, pointing a finger in my face. Bryant places a hand on her shoulder, and she glances back at him. “I’m so, so sorry, Bryant. It’s been a long day—I don’t even know why she’s being like this.”

Bryant shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Rach.” He meets my eyes. I sneer. “If there’s something I’ve done to anger you, Harlow, I will gladly apologize—”

“How about for fucking my mom?!” I ask, stepping back. “Going to apologize for that, big man?” He looks hurt, but I keep going, directing my words at Mom this time. “And what about you? I’ve never seen you dress that way before. You baked a fucking cake on your face with makeup and you’re acting like a ditsy little girl. It’s pathetic.”

Mom rears back as if I’ve slapped her. “Harlow—”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Dad would be so disappointed in you. In what you’ve become.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but I escape from the kitchen and am headed for the front door before I can see much more. My head hurts. My hands are shaking as I wrench open the front door of the house and storm down the steps.

I have no idea where I’m going, and damn if it isn’t cold outside, but I’m not staying there. Not with Mom, not with her new toy, and sure as hell not with her new sons.

Because that’s what I just witnessed. I just witnessed Mom replacing me and Dad as if we’re garbage. She found someone wealthier, with more successful kids.

“Get back here, Harlow!” Mom calls, coming out the front door. She’s crying. Bryant follows behind her. “You can’t keep running away like this!”

“I learned from the best!” I call back, almost a scream.

“Harlow, come back!” Bryant calls.

I break into a sprint, running down the long driveway and onto the road. I jog, noticing that I am very barefoot. The sun is beginning to set. I remember passing a bunch of shops on the way to Bryant’s house, so I blindly wander down the road.

I’m so stupid, I think, wrapping my arms around myself. I’m so goddamn stupid. I don’t know where I am. It’s got to be maybe sixty degrees out—if that. No shoes, no coat, no money.

I have my phone.

I hear the crunch of tires behind me and see headlights. I duck off of the road and into the trees, stumbling through dirt and branches and rocks as I try to hide from the car—which I know is Bryant’s. I walk off into the woods, knowing that I saw other houses around here and that I probably won’t get eaten or murdered here. Probably.

***********

I walk through the woods for close to an hour. I pass several houses, all as big as Bryant’s, and eventually end up huddled on the ground in someone’s backyard behind a shed. I’m surprised these rich fuckers don’t have more fencing or something around their houses.

My feet are numb and cut up from rocks, but I just shiver on the ground for a while. Here with my back against this shed, I’m actually kind of okay. It’s not like it’s thirty degrees outside. I’m starting to think that I’m cold from endorphins more than anything.

As I sit here, trying to think of why I said what I did, I want to cry. I really do.


	4. Required to Loathe Your Existence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ball is rolling now...
> 
> Enjoy!

In short, I didn’t think through running out of the house like I did. I sit behind the shed for a while, getting colder and more tired, watching as the sun sets and stops filtering through the trees. At some point, I hear several voices calling my name through the woods from the direction of the main road. Nobody finds me, though. Whoever’s property I’m on doesn’t find me either, so I tuck my legs to my chest and sit as I calm down.

My phone rings and rings and rings. I eventually silence it and shove the damn thing in my pocket. Mom could track my phone if she really wants to—I’m surprised she hasn’t already. It should be nice sitting out here by myself, should feel peaceful. It doesn’t.

It’s almost like I want someone to come find me. No—I want _Mom_ to come get me. I want her to show that she actually cares about me and that she isn’t just happy that I’m not bothering her right now.

It sucks that I doubt her. I just can’t shake the feeling that a normal parent who cares about their kid wouldn’t do what she’s done. I understand wanting to be in a relationship, but when it puts your kid at risk, you have to act like an adult and not move across the goddamn country for some guy that you don’t even know that well.

I wonder how well she really knows Bryant. She’s talked about him for years—since even before Dad died. They’ve known each other for a while, but I’ve always thought it was just brief conversations at business conferences.

I guess not.

My brow furrows and I pick at the hem of my shirt as a thought hits me. Mom probably hasn’t even considered how uncomfortable it is for me to be living in a complete stranger’s house—a man, no less. Add onto that fact Bryant has two sons, who are also living in the same house. Boys are difficult for me to associate with on a regular day—why in the hell would I be comfortable living with them?

None of Mom’s decisions make sense to me.

It’s almost eight o’clock when my phone starts buzzing again in my pocket. It’s almost completely dark out now. I sigh and pull the phone out, staring at the incoming call.

It’s from an unknown number. I have close to seventy missed calls from Mom and other unknown numbers. I’m guessing this call is from Bryant.

Something seizes in my gut at the thought of having to face anyone again. Mom will be pissed. I know Bryant didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that… The teenage boys will probably think I’m a total psychopath, or an immature piece of shit.

A fair judgement.

I don’t particularly care what the douche who sat across from me thinks. He just looked like someone I should hate.

I swipe to answer the call, putting the phone to my ear and not speaking.

A deep voice comes through the speaker, a rumbling tone that’s hesitant. “Uh… Hello?” His voice fades slightly as he whispers to someone on his end. “I think she answered.”

Another male voice says, “Well, ask her where she’s at, dumb shit.”

The deep voice gets louder. “Uh, where are you at?”

“You’re hopeless.” I’m pretty positive this is that Adrian guy. Sounds like him.

“Well, what the fuck do you want me to do? She won’t speak into the damn phone!” Directed towards me: “Are you there, Harlow?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

A sigh. “Jesus. Okay. Where are you? Your mom is going insane—saying she’s going to call the cops and shit.”

I roll my eyes. “They won’t do anything. Hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

“Are you planning on being gone for longer than that?” he asks. I hear shuffling in the background. A beep that sounds suspiciously like a car being unlocked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of hitting the Bahamas—you know, with all that money I didn’t take with me.” I glance down at my toes in the dark. “Or shoes.”

The guy curses under his breath. His voice really is deep. I almost think he’s the one who sat across from me, but I don’t know for sure. “Fuck. She doesn’t have shoes.” To me, “Where are you? Or tell me what’s around you—stores, houses, trees?”

“Um,” I fight a grin. “Well, it’s currently dark, but I can make out some trees… I think I see a leaf over there too.”

“Harlow. Dude, I don’t have time for your games.”

I lean back against the shed, getting comfortable. “Really? Did you have something to do tonight?”

“Yes!” he snaps impatiently. “If it weren’t for your temper tantrum, I would be getting laid right now.”

I swallow when laughter sounds in the background. “That sounds like a _you_ problem. And for your information, it was not a temper tantrum.”

“Really? Then what would you call it? All I saw was some weird chick treat her mom like shit and then run away.” The faint sound of a car starting has me on edge.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I hiss.

The guy interrupts me. “Don’t fucking start with me. Your whole _I’m a victim_ ploy isn’t my problem.” He hisses something indistinguishable at someone on his end. “But you hiding like a coward has become my fucking problem, so tell me where the fuck you are if you don’t want me to make your life a living hell for the rest of high school.”

“First of all, this has nothing to do with you, so butt out. Second of all, you may think you’re big and bad, but you go to _private school_.” I laugh sardonically. “You have no fucking idea what the real world is like, little boy.”

“This bitch,” he mutters. “I don’t have time for this. If you want us to come get you, tell me where you’re at. Last chance, before my dad gets the sheriff involved. And trust me—you don’t want to be the cause of a manhunt at eight o’clock at night, _little girl_.” He sneers the last words, likely revenge for my comment.

I don’t respond. I don’t particularly want to cause problems for anyone else, but I sure as hell don’t want to associate with this dude. Tears well in my eyes—either from guilt or something else.

“Your mom and my dad are still driving around looking for you. You’d be an idiot to let this go on any longer—” The guy groans, static sounding before a new voice comes on the line.

“Harlow?” a gentler voice asks. Definitely that Adrian guy. “Please tell us where you’re at. We just want to make sure you’re okay—it gets really cold at night here and you don’t know your way around.”

“I don’t want to go back there,” I mumble, ripping a thread off my shirt.

Adrian asks, “Why not? I know Beckett and Mike aren’t that great,”—a _Hey!_ in the background—“but Bryant is really nice. And anything is better than the woods at night.” He laughs softly.

Adrian is okay. I sniffle. “You don’t get it. I just found out today that my mom if fucking that dude—she completely lied to me—” I break off, inhaling shakily. My vision blurs and I wipe my face.

“That’s really shitty,” Adrian mutters. Then louder: “You could come hang out with us for the rest of the night, if you want? We were planning on sleeping over at Bryant’s tonight anyway.” Someone protests in the background, but he shushes them. “We’re going to watch movies, maybe play video games or something? It’ll be fun.” He continues quickly before I can comment, “And we’ll keep you away from the parental units.”

Exhaustion makes my eyelids heavy. I blink. Gaming sounds good, I guess… “I highly doubt you guys want to hang out with me. And wasn’t that other dude planning on getting laid or something?” I snort.

Adrian groans. “That was Beckett. And no—the only thing he’s fucking tonight will be his fist.”

“Fuck you!” Beckett yells.

Adrian snickers. “No thanks. I’m going to play _Call of Duty_ with my new bestie Harlow.”

I sigh. “I guess…” I try to remember how long it took me to get to this shed. “I don’t know where I’m at, though. I kind of wandered off the road and walked through the woods for a while…”

“What’s around you right now?”

“I’m sitting behind a shed at someone’s house. The house is grey and black brick, I think…”

“I know where you’re at,” Adrian says. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

************

Mike pounds on the front door of Matt Dahmer’s house, yelling, “Open up, Matty boy! We’re here to rescue the princess!”

Jax repeatedly presses the doorbell, whistling happily. His hair looks blood red in the light of the porch. “He might not be home,” he says. “We might have to break in!” He sounds overjoyed about the prospect.

Adrian sniffs and sighs. “I don’t know why we’re even bothering with talking to Matt. Harlow said she was by the shed—which is in the _backyard_.”

Mike huffs, all but punching the front door. “It’s on principle, dearest Adrian. Only the uncultured would walk into a man’s backyard without his knowing.”

“You have been joking about breaking into his house for like ten minutes,” Adrian snorts. “I’m pretty sure we won’t find Harlow in his house.”

“If she’s anything like her mother, it wouldn’t be surprising,” I mutter.

Kieran scowls at me. He has his arms crossed over his chest. Blond hair that is so gelled back it looks deadly sticks up from his scalp. “That’s not cool, dude. You don’t even know the chick.”

I roll my eyes. “Her mom slept her way into a job. I’m sure the daughter isn’t any different.”

“Knock your shit off, man,” Adrian scolds.

The front door swings open suddenly, making Mike stumble. He straightens and grins at a very disgruntled Matt Dahmer.

“What the fuck do you assholes want?” he demands, tying a robe tight around his waist. His pube-like chest hair peeks out the robe. I’ve never understood how someone with a receding hairline at seventeen could have so much body hair. He’s taken to shaving his head once a week to hide his fivehead, but I wish he would focus on shaving the rest of himself too.

Mike grins. “Matty! We need to go into your backyard.”

Matt narrows his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “Why? What did you do?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Jax rushes to reassure. “Mike and Beckett’s sister just ran away earlier, and she said she was hiding out in your shed.”

“Behind it,” Adrian corrects.

“Behind your shed.” Jax peers around Matt. “You got anybody interesting in there, bro?”

Matt frowns, closing the door more to block our view. “No. And I didn’t know you had a sister.” He looks at me curiously.

I glare at Jax’s stupid fucking head. “We don’t. She’s our dad’s girlfriend’s daughter.”

Matt raises his eyebrows and nods. “Ah, Rachel. Nice tits. Definitely D-cups.” He slides his feet into a pair of flip flops near the door and walks out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “Let’s go investigate, then.” He rubs his hands together.

Kieran sneers at Matt. “You wouldn’t have a chance, Matt.”

“Huh?” Matt asks innocently, leading our group around the side of the house. We pull out our phones and flip on the flashlights.

“Rachel’s daughter would not go for you,” Adrian adds.

Matt grumbles. “You never know.”

“She looks like she’s twelve,” I say, just to be a dick. “No boobs on that one.”

Jax tilts his head. “I think that was just the shirt she was wearing. I definitely saw a little something there…”

Adrian shushes us. “Knock it off. This is not a conversation any of you should be having.”

Matt trips on the firepit and almost takes Mike to the ground with him. He curses. “I fucking hate flip flops.”

The Dahmers’ backyard is about as big as most of the houses’ yards around this area. Lots of well-groomed grass and flowers during the summer, surrounded by rocky areas and evergreen trees. There’s a playset for Matt’s little sisters and, far at the back of the yard, a plastic shed that I know holds Matt’s beer stash and a lawnmower.

“Beckett, man,” Mike gets my attention. He gestures at the swing-set with a grin. The moonlight makes his eyes look completely black. I probably look as demented as he does right now. Same genes. “I could totally beat you in a swing race.”

I huff. “Not the time, Mike.” He whines, but Adrian interrupts anything he might’ve said.

“Harlow!” he says with his hands cupped around his mouth. “It’s Adrian! We’re here.”

We pass the playset and are almost at the shed when a small figure steps out from behind it. I blink and almost stop walking. There’s something disconcerting about a humanoid figure coming out in the dark.

Harlow limps over to us. As her face gets illuminated by Jax’s light, it becomes clear that she hasn’t been enjoying herself. Her eyes are red, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her arms are wrapped around her chest and she shivers a little.

From the back of the group, my eyes flicker over her, down to her bare feet and up to her hair, which has escaped its ponytail. She winces as she moves closer. Pity furrows my brow. Her feet must be cut to hell. She must’ve walked for at least thirty or forty minutes to get all the way to Matt’s house from Dad’s.

“Hi,” she mutters, staring more at the ground than at any of us. As I squint at her, I notice that she looks embarrassed. Her lips are pressed tightly together and she’s breathing tensely. Her cheeks flush darker.

It’s bad that I find it kind of cute.

“Harlow,” Adrian says warmly. He takes off his jacket, shocking me, and drapes it over her shoulders. “You must be cold. Let’s get you back to Bryant’s.”

Matt holds out a hand in front of Harlow before she can follow after Adrian as he leaves. “Hi! The name’s Matthew.”

“ _Matthew_.” Jax snickers.

Harlow blinks tiredly at Matt’s hand. She reluctantly takes ahold of it, shakes it, her eyes flickering away from him. Her gaze meets mine for a minute. I almost laugh. She’s completely out of her element. “Uh… Nice to meet you?”

“So,” Matt walks right next to her as we head to the front of the house. I strain to hear their voices behind me. I even slow my pace a little. “Beckett told me you’re his new sister.”

“Jesus fuck, Matt!” I exclaim, looking back at him. I meet Harlow’s eyes. “I never said that shit.”

She looks nauseous. “Good.” To Matt, she says, “You’re too close. Walk farther away.”

Matt falters but recovers quickly. He doesn’t move away, I notice. “What do you say about you and me ditching these losers and hanging out?” He flashes a smile at her—the same smile that makes me fantasize about choking him during football practice. Matt’s the cornerback for our school team. If he weren’t such a good player, I would probably have kicked his ass ten times over by now.

“I’m good.” Harlow cringes. I jerk my head around to face forward when I realize I’m about to walk into Mike.

Mike sighs dramatically. “Ouch. Sorry, Matty boy. That’s tough.”

Jax hangs back and slings an arm over Harlow’s shoulders. She twitches in surprise. “Princess is scheduled to hang with us tonight. Isn’t that right, your highness?”

“I guess…”

Matt grumbles to himself. I ignore all of them and climb into the driver’s seat of the SUV. Dad and Rachel took the Porsche, but the SUV fits everyone nicely enough.

Speaking of Dad—“Hey, Mike!” I call, peeking over the top of the open car door. Mike looks up. “Did you call Dad?”

“Yep! They’re already back home.”

Everyone climbs into the SUV, Matt pleading with Jax and Mike to let him join. I shake my head sharply, no patience for that douche tonight. I already have one spoiled brat to deal with. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I catch sight of Harlow as she buckles herself in between Mike and Adrian. Jax climbs into the front seat and Kieran has been booted to the very backseat.

I swallow, make sure everyone is in, and back out of the Dahmers’ driveway. It’s going to be a long night.

Exhaustion tugs at my shoulders and I crack my neck. I shouldn’t have stayed up last night talking to H. After practicing before and after school, dealing with little miss prissy’s temper tantrum, and Dad’s whore moving in, I’m tired. I don’t really want to hang out with the guys tonight, but if I say anything, I’ll never live it down.

As I drive us home, I wonder what H is up to. I haven’t had a chance to go on _Mutiny_ all day, but I wonder how she’s liking Colorado. My chest feels warm as I think about the fact that we now live in the same state.

We might be able to meet sometime soon….


	5. Not Like That!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stubbornly keep posting chapters of this story, even though like no one is reading it. I'm having fun, and that's important too!
> 
> If you're one of the few reading this, enjoy!

“So, Rachel’s daughter,” Jax—the redhead—says from the front seat. He is twisted completely over the middle console with a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

“Yeah?” I shift, trying not to touch either of the boys sitting next to me. They both take up far more room than this SUV allows. Their shoulders are wider than necessary, I decide.

“How long has your mom had the twins?” Jax asks.

Next to me, Adrian groans in disgust. “Dude, that’s gross.”

“What? They’re my favorite.” Jax winks at me. “So?”

I’m not computing. “Uh… the twins?”

“He’s referring to your mom’s massive tits.” Kieran snickers from the third row of seats.

I whip around to look at him and his spiky blond hair, then back at Jax. I scowl, but a flush rising up my throat. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Jax rests his elbow on Beckett’s seat. “I’m just curious. I want to know who her plastic surgeon was, so that I can refer my girlfriend to that gifted doctor.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “She hasn’t had a boob job.”

Jax laughs obnoxiously. “Of course she has! Don’t lie just to protect mommy—the girls are silicone if I’ve ever seen fake titties.”

“Man, just shut up please,” Adrian pleads, wiping a hand down his face.

“Besides,” Jax looks me up and down. “It’s more than obvious big boobs don’t run in the family.”

Beckett snorts, shaking his head. “Jesus, Jackson.” He shoves Jax away. “Sit back in your fucking seat.”

I press my lips together, humiliation making my cheeks hot. Here I am, in a car with five teenage boys, and the best thing they can do is make fun of my boobs. Great. 

Mike drapes an arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his side. “Come on, Jax. Don’t be an asshole.” He leans into me, his dark hair brushing my cheek. “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he hasn’t smoked enough today.”

Glad for a subject change, I say, “So it’s true that everyone smokes weed here?”

From the driver’s seat, Beckett grunts. “Some people do. Most don’t though. _Especially_ ,” he throws a meaningful glare at Jax, “people who are hoping to get athletic scholarships for college.”

Jax thuds his head against the seat, propping his feet on the dashboard. “You don’t have to lecture me, Mother Beckett. I’ll be at Mass on Sunday—promise.” He sarcastically holds his hands in a prayer position.

“Do you like video games, Harlow?” Adrian asks as the car turns into a neighborhood I vaguely recognize. Big, expensive houses. Must be close to Bryant’s.

I nod. “Yeah. I guess.” I don’t think revealing to these boys that I spend most of my time on _Mutiny_ is a good idea. Somehow, I think they would use that against me.

“What kinds do you like best? My favorites are exploration ones— _Fallout_ is the shit.” Adrian grins.

Mike still has his arm around me and I only remember when his bicep bulges against my shoulder blades. “First-person shooters are superior. _Call of Duty_ for the win.” He and Kieran fist bump over the seats.

“ _The Sims_ is the actual superior game, Mikey,” Jax butts in.

“You only like that game because you can make the characters fuck!” Kieran calls to the front.

“You’re damn right about that!” Jax cackles.

“I’m more into MMORPGs. I like first-person shooters, though. Killing things is my specialty,” I say, glad to be included in a conversation not about my mom or who she’s fucking for once today. 

“Oh! Have you heard of _Mutiny_? It’s an MMORPG, I think. Right, Beck?” Adrian asks.

Beck makes a reluctant noise of affirmation. “Yeah.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, his dark and unwelcome. “You probably wouldn’t like _Mutiny_ , though. It’s a complex game.”

I narrow my eyes at him. If only he knew. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike pipes in, “He just means that _Mutiny_ is more difficult to play because you have to build your world from scratch, basically. You kind of have to know basic coding, because you have to design your own characters and powers. I tried playing it when it first came out, but it was too hard.”

“Yeah.” Adrian nods. “ _Mutiny_ is only for people who have no social lives.” He grins and leans over me to poke Beck’s shoulder. “Like Beck.”

I press my lips together and choose not to comment that, from what I’ve observed, Beck has more of a social life than I’ve ever had.

“Meh.” Beck waves him off, pulling into the driveway leading to Bryant’s house.

Car parked in the garage, the boys file into the house. I trail slowly behind them, tensing as I listen for Mom’s voice.

In the massive living room off the side of the kitchen, she and Bryant are sitting on the couch. Mom has mascara smeared under her eyes and looked like she’s been running her hands through her hair.

She jumps to her feet when she sees me behind the boys. “Harlow!” She hugs me tightly.

I don’t hug her back. I stare at the wall over her shoulder, my anger from earlier coming back. I breathe deeply and try to remind myself that another fight is the last thing I need.

Mom pulls back and grabs ahold of my shoulders, shaking me slightly. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she yells. “Are you really that stupid—running off in a strange place like that?”

“Rachel,” Bryant starts.

I clench my jaw. Leaning against the wall, the boys stare at the supposedly amusing sight of my mother yelling at me. I make eye contact with Adrian, but his face looks grim.

They’re obviously not going to be any help.

“No, don’t touch me!” Mom exclaims when Bryant tries to pull her away from me. She spits in my face as she says, “You could have been kidnapped or murdered, Harlow! You’ve been acting so goddamn stupid recently—do I have to lock you in a room until you graduate high school?! Because if you keep doing this shit, that’s exactly what I’m going to do!” She shoves me backward.

I trip a little, wincing at the pressure on my torn up feet. I look down at the ground, at the white marble flooring. Little smears of blood dot where I’ve stepped.

“That’s enough, Rach,” Bryant says, wrapping his arms around her. As if she’s the one who needs comforting.

I stare at Mom’s face as she continues raising her voice at me, white noise buzzing in my ears. I feel like I’m sinking, almost numb to her words. I can’t really understand them at all, actually.

Mom’s face looked contorted, uglier than I’ve ever seen. She is spitting hateful words at me about how I’m so ungrateful and am trying to sabotage her happiness, blah, blah, blah. I’ve never looked that closely at her before, but I notice things I try not to. Like the cakey-ness of her foundation, the deep lines near her eyes and mouth, the thinness of the skin on her exposed chest. She looks aged. I look at her shirt, noticing that her cleavage _does_ look bigger than ever. Maybe Jax is right—maybe she got a boob job. But when? And with what money—whose money? Did she get it done on a “business trip?”

…. Did _Bryant_ pay for it?

“Okay, that’s enough,” Beck says, moving to stand between me and Mom. I blink at the back of his t-shirt. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that Beck is significantly taller than I am. He must be pushing 6’5”. He’s a big dude. Built. I can’t even see over his shoulder—he’s that tall.

“If you really feel the need to yell at your daughter—who, need I remind you, was just outside for the last several hours, is freezing, and is injured—then you can do it tomorrow.” Beck reaches back and grabs my arm. The buzzing fades from my ears and I stare down at his hand as he speaks. His fingers are so long. They wrap all the way around my forearm. “Right now, you,” Beck shoves a finger at my mom, “need to calm down. Adrian,” he says without looking over. “Get Harlow downstairs.”

Adrian silently comes over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go,” he murmurs.

I blink at Beck’s back as Adrian leads me away, toward the staircase leading to the basement movie room. The rest of the boys follow us without a word.

Before we’re out of earshot, Beck says to my mom and Bryant, “I don’t give a fuck what you two think you’re doing. You still have to act like goddamn adults—not like two teenage idiots who have no responsibilities. I shouldn’t have to become a parent to _another_ kid.” I have a feeling he directed this last part at Bryant. His footsteps pound on the floor as he marches after us down the stairs.

I numbly allow Adrian to steer me into a bathroom off to the side of the movie room. He situates me on the counter and then leaves with a soft mumble about finding a first aid kit.

I lean back against the mirror, staring at my knees, the words _I shouldn’t have to become a parent to another kid_ bothering me incessantly.

************

I zone out in the bathroom. A few minutes later, Beck comes in with a first aid kit in hand and sits on the closed toilet seat. He spreads a thick towel over his legs. I blink at him as he grabs ahold of my calf and brings my foot to rest in his lap.

I clear my throat, mouth suddenly dry. “What are you doing?” I try to pull my foot back.

He glares up at me through dark tendrils of hair. His eyes are angry, liquid pools of brown with bright gold interspersed, but I get the feeling that it’s not aimed toward me. For once. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making sure you don’t get sepsis or some shit. You seem like the type of person to be stupid about an open wound and end up getting a limb amputated.”

I make an indignant noise in my throat while he unscrews the cap of a brown bottle. Probably alcohol or hydrogen peroxide. “I’m not a complete imbecile, you know.” I hiss as he pours the liquid over my foot. It seeps slowly into the towel over his legs, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I have yet to find evidence indicating otherwise.” Beck picks up my foot and looks at the sole, gently rubbing it with the towel.

I wince and try to dampen the bubbly feeling in my abdomen. For such a scary-looking guy, his hands are gentle. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” My toes curl when his thumb glides over my ankle. I swallow.

Beck is completely immersed in putting Band-Aids on the bottom of my foot. His lip does twitch, though, and his eyes flick up to mine quickly. “I pride myself on my assholery.”

I snort. “You would.”

Beck cleans and bandages my other foot, keeping quiet save for a few distinct comments about my ability to be a complete idiot. His words, not mine.

When he places the last bandage on the ball of my foot and his hand slowly moves over my ankle, up my calf as he squints at my foot, I snicker.

His eyes dart up to mine with a brow arch. “What?”

My mouth pulls to the side. “You have a foot fetish, don’t you?”

Beck’s face goes slack. “Why the hell do you think that?! And the answer is an emphatic _no_. Jesus Christ.”

I snicker again. “Sure, bud. Now I understand why you’re the one in here and not Adrian.”

Beck scoffs and shoves my foot off his lap. He stands, tossing the towel to the ground. “You’re a piece of work.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “You know it, babe.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a third head. Because I already have two, apparently. “There’s something wrong with you.”

I offer him a cheeky smile. “Like mentally?” I hop down from the counter, using the wall as leverage to keep pressure off of the sorest parts of my feet. This puts me just a little too close to Beck. My arm brushes his chest, and he steps back quickly, pulling open the door as he does.

“Definitely,” he mutters, leaving the bathroom.

I hobble after him, walking out to see the rest of the boys splayed out on the couch, all with controllers in their hands. Beck rounds the couch and slumps down beside Mike, stealing his controller. It looks like they’re in the middle of playing some Nintendo game. I’ve never been a big fan of Nintendo (because there’s not enough gore and killing), but I’ll gladly watch them play as a distraction from my life.

Adrian glances up at me with a smile when the game ends. “How’d it go?”

I shrug, rounding the couch and perching on the end, closest to Adrian but a good distance from all of the boys. “I found out that Beck has a foot fetish.”

Jax’s head whips around so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t break his neck. “You did?! Did he get a woodie from touching your feet?” He’s grinning that Cheshire smile again.

I frown in mock thought. “I didn’t care to look.” I look to Beck. “Well? Answer the man.”

He growls lowly in his throat. “No, I didn’t fucking get a hard-on from touching her feet. Christ, Jax.”

Jax narrows his eyes and leans across Adrian toward me. “Was a half-chub probable?”

I nod. “Definitely.” I grin, throwing Beck’s word back at him.

Mike laughs lowly, causing Beck to smack him in the back of the head. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am!” Mike laughs. “It’s just funny that _you_ would have a foot fetish. If anyone in here has a foot fetish, I would’ve thought it was Kieran.”

Surprisingly, Kieran nods. “I don’t like it, but I understand where you’re coming from.”

“Why?” I ask slowly, not sure if I really want the answer.

All five of the boys answer at the same time: “Because Kieran will fuck anything.”

“And we mean _anything_ ,” Jax adds.

“Like he once had to go to the ER because of the vacuum incident—” Mike pipes in.

Adrian interrupts with: “I had to throw out one of my mom’s couch pillows once. It was _ruined_.”

“With semen.” Jax shudders in horror.

Kieran nods solemnly. “With semen.”

I know I have a horrified look on my face. I can’t do anything to stop it. “Why would you do that? What’s…. Why?” I whine, covering my face. It’s hot and I know I’m blushing.

I’ve never been around people who talk so openly about these things before. It’s scary.

Beck snickers evilly. “You’re the one who wanted to bust up in our movie night.”

The room is silent for a long moment.

“Not like that!” Beck exclaims.

All of the boys cackle loudly. I even join in.

A good distraction, indeed.


	6. You Freckled Crackhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Laurier Academy has a mandatory uniform policy, consisting of a fugly navy blue skirt, button down white shirt, tie, and navy jacket. Knee-high socks are optional—but as it’s either fetishized socks or wearing tights all day, I vote for the socks. I have to wear these clunky uniform flat shoes, too. They make me look like I just got out of some dry British sitcom about boring teenagers and their boring rich kid dramas.

Mom tries to get me to do something with my hair and face, but I’ve never been one to wear much makeup. I do put on a little mascara (today will probably mark the only time I’ll do that the entire year) and I brush my hair so that it hangs somewhat neatly down my back. I don’t try very hard, though.

I frown at my reflection, thinking that even if I did try harder, I wouldn’t look much better. There’s just something about my face that shouldn’t be documented. Something in the way my nose is a little too big for my face or the fact that I still have acne scars under my neck and around my hairline. My skin started to clear up a few months ago, but I can’t help but think that everything will go downhill once I’m in college.

My hair is especially dull today, I decide, leaning over the sink to wipe mascara off of my eyelid. It’s this odd mixture of wavy and curly, refusing to cooperate no matter what I do. It’s darker brown—nowhere near as dark as Mike and Beck’s, though.

Someone bangs on the bathroom door. “Harlow! The boys are leaving in five minutes and you’re going with them! Hurry up!”

I sigh at Mom’s tone. She’s been pissed at me all weekend, making passive-aggressive comments here and there. I’ve been avoiding everyone since Friday night, locked up in my temporary room and waiting for B to log onto _Mutiny_. He’s been oddly absent this weekend, popping in only once on Saturday to apologize and say that he’s got something going on at home. He never elucidated what was up, but I have a feeling he’ll tell me.

On Friday night after I got back to Bryant’s with the guys, we stayed up late playing video games. I totally kicked all of their asses in _Call of Duty_ (even though Beck got pissy and stormed off sometime around midnight). I haven’t seen much of them since, just a few awkward encounters in the kitchen or during meals.

I’m supposed to ride to school with Mike and Beck, but apparently both of them play football (kill me), so we have to go at six o’clock in the goddamn morning, instead of a normal time like normal people. I’ll also have to stay late most days of the week, because they practice after school too.

Now I understand why B complains about his practice schedule so much. I bet he’s better at football than Mike and Beck, though—B just seems superior to those douches.

I snag my backpack—a school-issued one that’s leather and bright red—as I head downstairs. A yawn brings tears to my eyes and I’m rubbing them when I get to the main foyer. I haven’t even left for school yet, and I’m already exhausted. I can’t wait to get back later—the moving truck is supposed to arrive around five o’clock tonight. I need to make sure Dad’s stuff is okay.

I also need to have access to the rest of my closet. It’s getting difficult rewashing the same outfits every few days.

Mike leans against the wall near the door leading to the garage, eyes tired, dark hair mussed. His hair is slightly shorter than Beck’s, barely noticeable except when you look hard.

I frown at him, walking closer. “Why do you get to look like shit and I don’t?” I demand, gesturing at his sweatpants and sweatshirt. Mom woke me up an hour ago, saying that I needed to shower and get ready. Mike looks like he just rolled out of bed.

He grunts. “Have to practice. Can’t get my uniform sweaty.”

“Please, God, tell me you shower after practice.”

Mike waves a hand at me. “Of course.”

I yawn again, looking around for Beck. “Where’s the Mighty Douche?”

He snickers. “Getting ready. He has to put on his makeup. Takes forever.”

“I sincerely hope you’re joking,” I say.

Beck’s voice from the staircase butts in, “He is. No makeup for me.”

I look over at him, taking in his sweats too. He’s wearing these grey sweatpants that are so loose, yet so tight in some areas. Flushing before my eyes can stray to his pockets—or rather, what’s between his pockets—I duck my head and move to the door, wrenching it open. “Are we going, then?”

Mike follows me into the garage, asking, “What’s wrong with you?”

Not acknowledging his comment, I ask, “Which car are we taking?” There’s the black SUV and a silver Porsche. I think I know the answer, but—

“SUV.” Beck shoulders by me, rounding to the driver’s side.

I rub my shoulder. “Asshat.”

Mike gets into the front seat while I climb into the back. I set my backpack on the seat next to me and start to buckle in when Beck stops me.

“Get in the third row,” he says, twisting to look at me. At my questioning look, he says, “We’re picking up the guys.”

I grumble but do as I’m told. Beck drives a few houses down from Bryant’s, idling on the street as Jax and all his redheaded glory sprints to the vehicle. He throws open the backseat door, climbing inside. From further up the driveway, a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue housecoat waves her fist angrily and is shouting. She jogs toward the SUV.

“Go, go, go!” Jax pants. “She’s going to skin me!”

Beck unhurriedly pulls away from the curb. “What did you do this time?”

Jax grins and leans over the center console. “Had Amy over last night. May or may not have left a mess in the living room.”

Mike groans. “Bro. You have a kid sister.”

Jax holds up his hands. “She’s at Grandma’s for the rest of the week. Besides,” his tone takes on a suggestive lilt. “What are living rooms for if not _living_?” He holds his hands over his lap and undulates against nothing.

“Dude,” I mumble in disgust, scooting away from him.

Sadly, my comment makes him aware of my presence. He twists to look at me, almost climbing over the second row of seats in excitement. “Harlow! My favorite chica. How goes it?” He leans his chin against the back of his seat, staring at me with bright green eyes.

I poke his freckled forehead. “Turn around and put your seatbelt on. And I would be better if I didn’t have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for a sport I don’t even play.” I add under my breath, “Or like.”

Jax gasps in horror. “How dare thee offend thy sport of the balled foot!”

“Sit the fuck down, you freckled crackhead,” Beck orders. Jax listens.

I shrug to no one and look out my window. “There are better sports.”

“I’ll bet you’ve just never watched football before,” Mike says. “If you watched us play, you’d love it.”

I shake my head. “Watching you idiots play would just make me nauseous.” The thought of watching B play, however, is appealing. The thought of actually meeting B in real life is more of a motivation than anything.

The car pulls into a slightly less wealthy neighborhood and idles next to a decently sized townhouse. Kieran walks out, hands in his pockets. He’s the only one wearing the dark blue uniform pants, but his dress shirt hangs unbuttoned off of his torso. I discretely ogle his defined stomach, catching sight of a lovely trail of hair under his belly button.

Jax scoots over as Kieran climbs in, finally buckling his seatbelt. “Kieran! My man.” Jax offers Kieran a fist bump, to which he is ignored.

Kieran nods at me as he settles in his seat, but only says to Jax, “Speak to me and die. I’m still mentally sleeping.”

I can relate, bro. I nod in respect and watch out the window as Beck navigates the SUV through residential areas, crossing under the overpass and to the other side of town. The houses here are much smaller, mostly apartment buildings and hotels, if I’m being honest.

I start to frown as we enter what looks like a trailer park. And by a trailer park, I mean with actual RV’s and campers; there are no modular homes in sight. I’m just about to ask why we’re here when Beck stops the car. We’re parked at the end of a camping trailer that probably isn’t even as big as the guest bedrooms at Bryant’s house. Empty beer bottles and trash crowd around the trailer. Broken glass litters the sparse grass leading to the door.

The boys are all on edge, watching the door of the trailer in silence. I blink and decide not to say anything. I don’t want to come across as rude.

The door opens after several tense minutes. In the dim light of the rising sun, I identify Adrian’s brown hair as he creeps out of the trailer, carefully descending the steps and then picking his way around the garbage toward the SUV. Kieran hurriedly unbuckles and scoots to the middle so that Adrian can climb in. He is dressed perfectly in the uniform, nicely filling out the suit jacket with his broad shoulders. He sets a worn, leather backpack in his lap. The boys get black leather, apparently. I haven’t seen any of the other boys’ backpacks, but let’s be honest—I really don’t expect any of them to value academics anyway.

Adrian grins, twisting to nod at me and then at the guys. “Morning.” We all mumble greetings as Beck drives off—presumedly toward the school. It’s located about thirty minutes out of Vail, on private property.

Rich kids.

I wonder at Adrian’s situation, but don’t have the balls to ask.

He distracts me anyway. “So,” He leans against the door to meet my eyes. “Excited for your first day?”

I groan. “Kill me. Just do it.”

He chuckles, reminding me of how soothing his voice is. Adrian can probably sing really well.

“Don’t say that, Harlow,” Jax whines, squashed up against the door on the opposite side. “We would miss you! And your hot mom would be sad…”

“That would give us a nice opportunity to _comfort_ her, though,” adds Kieran, apparently now mentally awake.

Jax nods slowly, as if he’s just had an epiphany. “True…” He sets his gaze firmly on me. “I apologize then, Harlow. It’s nothing personal. Boys,” He points at me around the back of Kieran’s head. “This is a declaration of premeditated murder. Target: Harlow. Objective: bang Harlow’s smokin’ mom for comfort.” He cackles while Adrian attempts to reach over Kieran and smack him.

“You’re inconceivable,” Adrian says, sitting back in his seat.

“Are you on the football team too, Adrian?” I ask.

He meets my eyes and nods. “Yeah. Only because it counts as a club activity for college, though. I’m under no delusions that I’m actually good at it.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. 

“You’re good,” Beck says, surprising everyone. “You know you could just as easily get a sports scholarship if you wanted, you humble bastard.”

Adrian ducks his head. “Aw, you’re going to make me blush.” By the way a flush creeps up the back of his neck from under the collar of his shirt, though, I can tell that he is secretly grateful for Beck’s comment.

I stare at the back of Beck’s head for the rest of the drive, trying to figure him out. One minute he’s a temperamental douche, the next he’s reassuring his friends of their potential.

It’s…. odd.

**************

At the school, Mike quickly shows me to the front office before he heads off down the hall. A plump woman with grey hair tells me to have a seat until the principal arrives, handing me a class schedule and another packet with a map and school rules in it. I vaguely glance through the papers, mentally killing my mother.

She signed me up for Advanced Placement Calculus. Bitch.

Laurier Academy is a big, Victorian-style building in the middle of the mountains. It has wide, grassy fields, a massive gymnasium connected to the back of the school, and marble flooring. Dark mahogany woodwork decorates every doorway and windowsill. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such fine woodwork up close before—but then again, the value of all my organs on the black market likely don’t equal the cost of tuition here. All of the classrooms are in the main building, but I spotted some smaller buildings behind the school and even what looked like a large apartment complex. Adrian informed me that those were the _dorms_.

When Principal Edwards arrives, I can say that I’m impressed. She’s a small woman with blonde hair and intense blue eyes. The way she speaks demands respect, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m definitely a little intimidated as she shows me around the school. I follow her through the halls, clunky shoes clicking on the floors, basically mute.

It’s close to eight o’clock by the time she lets me into a lecture-style classroom and tells me that it’ll be my homeroom for the rest of the semester. I sit in the very back, prepared to move once people start arriving. Do private schools have seating assignments too, or do rich kids get to do whatever the fuck they want?

An overweight man waddles through the door first, followed by random students in uniforms similar to mine. I keep my eyes peeled for any of the boys and am almost relieved when I see Jax and Kieran come in. I don’t say anything at first, not wanting to assume they’ll talk to me at school. Based on my experience at public school, status is everything—and I’m apparently not worth talking to, according to most people.

I should’ve known that Jax is anything but normal, though, because the moment he sees me, he lets out an evil laugh and bounces up the stairs to sit right next to me. He tries to hug me, but Kieran holds him back.

“Harlow! I’ve missed you for the last hour. Come on, kiss me hello!” He puckers his lips obnoxiously.

I cringe away. “You’re not normal.” Glancing around, I notice that the entire room has gone silent. A group of girls with skirts that are way shorter than mine glare at me, twisted around in their seats toward the front. I look away.

The last thing I need is a target on my back. Rich kids are in another league of bullying.

The overweight man tells everyone to have a seat, not acknowledging me. I look through my papers, finding that homeroom is taught by a Mr. Vox. I sigh and sit quietly as he goes over some incident that happened the week prior. I know nothing about it.

Jax and Kieran whisper back and forth, poking each other with pencils and chucking erasers. I tolerate their shit until an eraser hits me in the cheek.

Leveling a glare on Jax, I confiscate the eraser. “Knock it off.”

Jax mocks me, sulking in his seat. Kieran smirks.

*************

The day is pretty uneventful until my third class right before lunch. Jax and Kieran were in English with me, and Kieran was in History with me, but they both go off in different directions when I head toward Calculus. Figures.

I walk into Calculus as one of the last people there. The teacher, a tired man with brown hair and a forgettable face, tells me to sit wherever. There’s only one open seat, and I cringe as I make my way toward it.

Beck sits back at a desk with one girl giggling in his lap and one sitting on the desk. The girl in his lap is playing with his hair. Beck isn’t paying attention to either of the girls, though—he’s talking to Adrian, who is the first to notice me as I sit on Beck’s other side. Only open seat.

Adrian grins. “Pace. Surviving so far?”

“I guess.” I shrug, wilting as both of the girls turn to glare at me. The one on Beck’s lap almost falls off as she twists around to look at me.

Beck, the asshole, narrows his eyes at me. “Why are you sitting there?”

I blink. “The old dude told me to.” I gesture at the front of the room.

Scowling, Beck grumbles. “You should sit somewhere else.”

The girl on his lap, a blonde with her shirt unbuttoned a little too much, nods. “Yeah. There’s no room for you here.”

I furrow my brow, looking around pointedly. “This is the only free seat.”

Adrian cuts in, “Don’t be mean, Beck.” He looks across at me. “Sit there, Harlow. Ignore the harpies.” He glares at the girls.

“Stop being such a prude, Scholarship.” The one on Beck’s desk huffs, black bob swishing as she slides to stand on the ground, exposing her entire ass in the process. I blink in horror and look away. I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing underwear. I wonder if Beck’s desk needs to be bleached before he can use it.

“Hey!” Beck growls. He pushes the girl in his lap to the floor and leans toward the girl with black hair. “Talk to him like that again, and you’re done, Anna. I’ve already warned you once.”

Anna blinks and her face pales. “I was just kidding around, Beck…” She looks at Adrian, as if he’s going to help her. “Come on, Adrian, you know I’m just joking.”

Adrian’s jaw is clenched, and he stares down at his desk, not acknowledging her. His cheeks are flushed, brown bangs hiding his eyes.

The blonde gets up from the ground, brushing off her skirt. She links arms with Anna. “Let’s go sit down.” She glares at Beck as she leads Anna away.

“What a bitch,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

Beck’s head turns toward me, scowling. He snarls, “Shut your fucking mouth. This is your fault.”

I lean away from him, not understanding why my heart thuds so much in my chest or why a shiver races down my spine. Beck is kind of… scary.

“Beck,” Adrian mutters tiredly. Beck leans over and they have a tense, whispered conversation as class starts.

I blink away the sudden moisture in my eyes and keep my head down for the rest of class. I almost want to apologize, but I’m not sure what I did to deserve Beck’s hatred. I’m also not sure why Adrian won’t look at me anymore. He ignores me every time I try to catch his eyes for the rest of class.

************

The next period is lunch. I rush out of Calculus, clutching my backpack to my chest, and go hide in a stall in the bathroom. Nausea rolls my stomach over at the thought of eating, so I just sit on a closed toilet seat on my phone for a while. Again, I wish that I could message B on a platform that’s not _Mutiny._ I wonder if I should just ask for his number already.

I wonder if he’d even give it to me.

My schedule is set up so that I have three classes in the morning, one class after lunch, and then P.E. last. By the time I’ve survived Chemistry, which I have with Mike, I’m tired as I enter the women’s locker-rooms. The football coach, a buff woman in her forties, shows me to my locker and hands me a P.E. uniform. I take it to a toilet stall to change. I’ve been kind of aloof today, but even I’m not oblivious enough to not notice the glares girls have been sending me all day. As I change, I run through the small conversation I had with Mike before Chemistry.

He told me that he heard Beck was a dick earlier, apologized on his behalf, and then apologized that he wouldn’t be able to sit with me. Apparently, his girlfriend gets really jealous and is also in Chemistry. She is a petite girl with strawberry blonde hair, and I didn’t think she looked all that bad. Still. Mike looked over my schedule and seemed put out that we’d only be in Chemistry together—apparently, he’s year younger than Beck, but he skipped a grade, so he and Beck are both seniors. Beck just happens to be only taking advanced placement classes. Of course he is.

By the time I change into my P.E. uniform—a white shirt and navy shorts—I’ve had enough time since Chemistry to stew over Beck’s reaction and Adrian’s sudden coolness. I’ve decided that I’m going to establish a distance from all of the boys. I don’t need anymore drama in my life. Besides, I reassure myself as I enter the gym, I’ve only known them for like three days. Not much of a loss.

I may or may not be sulking on the bleachers, waiting for P.E. to start, when two guys walk over and sit on either side of me. I tense, crossing my arms.

One of the guys has a face full of acne and curly, dirty-blond hair. The other has a crew cut and hard eyes. He smirks and leans close into my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “So, I hear you’re Harper’s new sister?”

“Hands off. And no.” I shudder, frowning and shoving his arm off.

He laughs. I don’t like the look in his eyes as he leans back and tilts his head, running his eyes over my uniform. “Nice, Harper. Real nice.” He whistles. He just screams pretentious.

Scumbag. I scowl, standing. Teenage boys are gross. When I try to descend the bleachers, though, the asswipe grabs the hem of my uniform shirt and tugs.

I almost trip, whipping my head around and spitting, “What the fuck is your problem?!”

A deep voice talks over me, drawing Crew Cut’s attention. “Prescott. Let go.”


	7. I'm Mad at You Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun with this!!! I've been able to whip these chapters out surprisingly quickly, so I'm going to keep writing while I'm inspired.
> 
> Enjoy!

Beck stands at the base of the bleachers, thick forearms crossed over his chest. A small crowd of guys stands near him, all posturing. Adrian is at Beck’s elbow, still avoiding my eyes, and Kieran is standing next to a guy with a shaved head I vaguely remember from Friday night—what was his name—Mark? He introduced himself like a slimeball, but I don’t remember his name.

Crew Cut—Prescott, according to Beck—lets go of my shirt. I jump off the bleachers and stand a few feet from Beck—who ignores me in favor of glaring at Prescott and his acne ridden friend.

“I see you still haven’t tried Neutrogena, Puss Face.” Beck slides his hands into his athletic shorts, tilting his head back lazily. His eyes are heavy lidded, and he looks bored. I stare at his profile discreetly, eyes trailing over the cords of his neck, his defined Adam’s apple. As much as I hate to admit it—Beck really is pretty to look at. Handsome.

Puss Face rolls his eyes. “I see you’re still butt-fucking Mitchel.” He leers at Adrian. “You bottoming or have you graduated to cowboy yet?”

Prescott sniggers, slapping hands with Puss Face. “Nice, Colt!”

A muscle jumps in Beck’s jaw. “You really want me to punch your teeth in this year, Eric?”

Eric Prescott retorts, “As if you could.”

Beck takes a menacing step toward the bleachers, but Adrian throws an arm out and stops him. “No fighting. Coach will bench you this season—she already said she would.”

Beck breathes heavily, staring into Adrian’s eyes for a long moment before he nods. “Fine.” His eyes catch sight of me around Adrian. He barks, “Pace! What the fuck is with you and causing problems?” He stomps toward me.

I hold my hands up and back away, saying, “I didn’t do anything!”

He thrusts a finger at me. “Stop starting shit in my school.”

Anger simmers my chest. “You’re an asshole! They’re the ones who were bothering _me_!” I gesture blindly at Colt and Eric, who are laughing unattractively on the bleachers. For two skinny guys, they sure have no concept of when to leave the scene.

Beck growls low in his throat, bending down to put his face close to mine. My heart stops when his minty breath blows over my cheeks. This close, I can smell his cologne again. It’s so nice—but the words coming out of his mouth are not. “If I have anything do say about it, you won’t have to worry about anyone here bothering you anymore.” He leans closer, putting his mouth to my ear. I swallow when his lips brush the shell of my ear. “You and your whore mother will be gone within the next month. Bet,” he hisses, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

When he straightens, my mouth opens and closes. I have no idea how to respond to that—I’ve never been so close to another boy in my life! My cheeks feel hot, but I’m assuming that’s anger. Has to be.

“Trust me,” I finally croak out, voice trembling. I clear my throat. “No one wants that more than me.” I turn on my heel and walk to the other side of the gym. My lips tremble and I focus on calming my heartrate as the football coach—apparently also the P.E. teacher, who goes by Coach Schmidt—begins class by telling us to run suicides up and down the gym. I barely push myself when running, but focusing on my own footfalls and on not suffocating from lack of oxygen helps me calm down. Surprisingly.

************

I spend an hour after school in the library, listening to music on my phone and eventually giving up on my Calculus homework. It’s my first day here—how the hell am I supposed to understand any of this shit?

I don’t speak to any of the guys on the way home. Not even Mike, who gets me from the library and leads me toward the SUV. I stubbornly stay in the very back seat even after Jax, Kieran, and Adrian get dropped off. Mike tries to talk to me a few times, asking Beck what’s wrong with me when I don’t respond, before he gives up.

I sadistically hope that Beck feels guilty for how he’s treated me all day, but I highly doubt he has the ability to feel guilt.

I highly doubt Beck has the capacity to feel human emotions.

When we pull into the driveway at Bryant’s house, I lose a little bit of my sour attitude. Parked in front of the garage is the bright orange moving truck. It looks like it just got here, too, because the driver and a passenger are unbuckling their seatbelts and getting out of the cab.

Beck parks near the curb, cursing about having to pull the SUV into the garage after the moving truck leaves. I ignore him, climbing over the second row of seats and rushing up the driveway.

Mom comes out the front door right as I reach it, smiling widely at the moving guys. She spares a look at me as I pass her, rushing upstairs to throw my backpack into the guest room.

When I get back downstairs, Mom is signing a stack of paperwork while the two moving guys roll open the back of the truck. Beck and Mike linger on the front porch, eyes uneasily focused on the truck.

“Where’s our dad?” Mike asks, tone oddly sharp.

Mom hums under her breath. “He had a client interview, but he should be here for dinner.”

Beck grinds his teeth. “You’re not moving anything in without Dad here.”

Mom raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look up from the papers. “Is that so?”

I slow in my walk to the back of the moving truck and end up pausing near Mike. I frown at Mom. Something in her tone is off. She sounds… bitchy.

“Mom,” I start, “we could just have them leave the boxes in the garage or something until Bryant gets back—”

“No,” she interrupts sharply. “There’s not that much, anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

I frown. “What do you mean? There’s like all of our furniture—Dad’s record collection takes up a ton of space too—”

“Harlow.” She sighs, pinching her nose as if I’m annoying. “Those records were garbage.”

“… _Were_?”

Her eyes shine with pity—but not regret. “You didn’t seriously think we’d be moving across the country will all those vinyls, did you? We don’t even have a record player anymore!” She scoffs.

I stare at her in horror. “But a lot of places sell record players still! And you’re the one who sold Dad’s player in the first place!” I swallow, seeing that the truck has been opened. “You’d better be lying.” I rush over to the back of the truck.

The two movers are standing almost all the way at the back of the truck. I gape in shock. There are only about ten boxes tied to the very back wall of the truck. No furniture. No milk crates of records. Nothing else.

I made sure to label each box so that we could easily find everything, but as I scan the sides of the boxes as the movers carry them out and set them in the driveway, I feel a part of my soul leave my body. It’s all clothes, shoes, Mom’s jewelry. Purses. Like three of those boxes are actually mine, and they’re all full of clothes. I heave in panic, looking over at Mom, passing my eyes over Mike and Beck quickly, settling on the movers.

“Hey!” I exclaim to get one of the movers’ attention. He looks up. “Is there another truck? Where’s the rest of it?”

The guy looks confused. “There was only the one truck, ma’am. Is something missing?”

My heart stops. I whirl toward mom, screaming, “What did you do with the rest of it?!”

She sighs in irritation. “Lower your tone. And if you have to know, I sold everything else.”

I swallow. “You—you _sold_ it? Even the records?! Even Dad’s armchair?!”

“Yes!” she raises her voice. “It was mine to sell!”

“What about the storage unit?!”

“There is no storage unit!” She throws her hands up. “We needed money for the move—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!” A sob erupts from my mouth. I bite my lip, staring at Mom in horror. How could she? “That’s all we had left of Dad!”

Mom’s lip curls. “Yes, all we had left of that bastard was some useless junk that I didn’t even get $300 for!”

I sway on my feet. “Don’t call him that…” I can barely see through my tears, chest heaving. I shudder in a breath, unsure of what to do.

She sold everything.

She sold Dad’s stuff like he meant nothing to her. Like _I_ mean nothing to her.

************

Mike and I stand on the porch, watching in horrified silence as Harlow cries and her mother does nothing about it. Something twists in my gut as Harlow curls over herself, sobbing, looking like everything in the world has been taken from her.

For all I know, everything _has_.

As Rachel finishes signing whatever papers are in her hands and as Harlow sinks to her knees on the ground, something in my chest snaps. I lunge forward past Rachel and the movers. Harlow is shaking, whimpering low in her throat as I bend down and put a hand hesitantly on her back. She doesn’t seem to notice me.

“Mike!” I call back. He comes running over. “Make sure that bitch doesn’t put anything in the house until Dad gets home.”

He nods, looking at Harlow with fury simmering in his dark eyes, so similar to mine. If he’s anywhere near as angry as I am right now, we probably look like twins with vendettas to exact.

I scoop on arm beneath Harlow’s knees, another behind her back, and lift her up. She tries to say something but is basically incomprehensible now, every word punctuated by a hiccup or a sob. Her eyes meet mine, flushed red with tears. Her cheeks are pink and blotchy, lips swollen.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, carrying her to the front door.

Rachel catches sight of us and lets out an irritated noise. “Oh, now that really isn’t necessary, Beckett. She’s just throwing a temper tantrum.”

When she has the audacity to laugh, I snarl, “You’re lucky I value not having a criminal record, because I am two minutes away from beating the shit out of you.”

She gapes at me, squawking something about how I can’t speak to her like that, Bryant will hear about it, blah, blah, blah. I stomp through the front door and up the stairs, marching to the best place I can think of, the one place where I can give Harlow some solitude away from her appalling mother for a minute.

My room, much like Mike’s, is on the third floor of the house. Mike and I live on one side, while Dad—and now The Bitch—live on the other. I nudge the door open with my foot, careful not to jostle Harlow too much. She has her hands over her face, hiding.

With no hands free to turn the light on, I blindly aim for the bed and carefully set Harlow down on it. She sits on the edge, bending low, still crying. My throat gets tight at the sound of her sobs, so I turn, softly shutting the door and clicking the light on at my desk.

I sit down on my desk chair, trying to find something to say. It feels wrong to let her keep crying, but I don’t know how to comfort crying girls. And this is Harlow—whom I have declared war against mentally!

“You okay?” I ask quietly, out of my depth.

She laughs bitterly through a sob, raising her head and exclaiming, “No, you idiot!” She grabs my pillow and chucks it at me.

I catch it and bite my lip. “Well… I’m sure there’s some way to get your Dad’s stuff back?”

“Shut up, Beck,” she moans, flopping onto her side so that her back is to me. My eyes linger on where her uniform shirt rides up, exposing her lower back.

Moving my eyes away, I say, “Just trying to help.”

Harlow cries quietly, grabbing another one of my pillows and pressing her face into it. I spin in my chair for a bit, watching the ceiling, the walls. I almost want to turn on the tv in front of the bed, but I think that might be a little selfish.

The sound of tires moving over asphalt sounds from outside. I awkwardly shuffle to the window on the far side of the room, looking down on the driveway. Dad’s Porsche is pulling in as the movers climb into the truck. My shoulders tense as I watch Mike rush to the driver’s side of the Porsche when the car stops in front of the garage next to the moving truck. Mike doesn’t even wait for Dad to get out of the car before he’s talking and waving his arms. Rachel rushes over, past the moving boxes piled in front of the garage.

I scoff at Dad’s bewildered expression. He glances from the pile of boxes, to Rachel, to Mike, and back again. Some part of me has a feeling he has no idea what’s going on. I shake my head, turning around. I say, “Who wants to bet he doesn’t even know she’s planning on moving all her shit in here?” I stop talking when I catch sight of Harlow on the bed.

The pillow is no longer covering her face. She lays on her side, hands balled into fists next to her head. She’s stopped sobbing, but silent tears track down the side of her face, over her nose and down her temple.

I swallow and carefully approach the bed, sitting on the opposite side closest to the window. “Hey. Are you… okay now?”

Her lip trembles. She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. Silent.

I nod. “Okay.” I scoot up to sit against the remaining pillows, letting my legs stretch out. I’m uncomfortable in my uniform pants, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I think changing my clothes in front of a crying girl might be the worst thing I could do.

Harlow breathes deeply, pressing her face into my bedspread. “She’s horrible.” She sniffles.

I lift a hand and set it on her head. I pat her a little, realize that’s what people do with dogs, and then run my fingers through her hair. It’s really soft, this nice brown color. I like the length of it too. I stare at the ceiling, scooting toward Harlow a little more. “Yeah. Sorry to tell you, kid, but your mom’s a bitch.”

A hysterical half-laugh, half-sob escapes her. “She is. The biggest bitch.”

At least we can agree on something.

************

It takes Harlow a full hour to calm down enough to sit up against the headboard with me. She twists her fingers, eyes downcast. I turned on a movie a while ago, uncomfortable with the silence of the room. Harlow and I don’t make a move to go downstairs, though. Earlier, I heard Dad and Rachel yelling at each other, but I don’t want to deal with that shit right now. I heard Mike storm into his room and slam the door too. I don’t want to deal with _that_ either.

I just want to sit here and watch mindless tv for once. It’s not often that I get to just do nothing. I’m always either at football practice, or going to some schmoozey dinner with Dad, or playing parent to Jax, Mike, and Kieran. Adrian is my chosen wife in our family dynamic—even though he does make one hell of an ugly bitch.

Harlow is quiet too. She doesn’t make meaningless comments about anything and watches the movie with sad brown eyes. Her eyes are much lighter than mine, more golden than anything, with small flecks of green around the irises. Her shoulder brushes mine—we’ve migrated to sitting in the center of the bed. I don’t move away.

The tv’s on low volume, so I don’t feel like I’m interrupting anything when I say, without thinking really, “My mom’s dead too.”

Harlow shifts, glancing at me. “Yeah?”

I nod, jaw clenching. “Yeah.”

Harlow is silent for a while. “For how long?”

“About a decade. She died when I was nine. Mike was eight.”

“My dad died when I was thirteen.” She inhales deeply, shakily. “Bone cancer.”

I look down at her. Sitting right next to her makes it so obvious that I’m taller than her, so much bigger than her. I feel small. “Car accident,” I mutter. “Drunk driver.”

Harlow bows her head, fingers ever twisting and fidgeting. “I’m sorry.”

“My dad was devastated,” I whisper. “He used to cry a lot. Not so much anymore.”

She nods slowly. “Mom cried for maybe six months. Then she just… stopped. She started dating other guys around that time too.” Harlow barks out a laugh. There is no humor in it. “It was like she was almost _glad_ he was dead.”

I have nothing to say to that. Absolutely nothing.

“I’m mad at you,” she whispers.

I don’t have the energy to frown much. “And why is that?”

She peeks at me through her hair, a glare clear in her eyes. “Because you’re a dick. And I’m _mad_ at you.” I almost expect her to leave, but she doesn’t.

“Well,” I say after a moment. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m mad at you too.”

She looks outraged. “Why?!”

I shrug, leaning back against the pillows more, folding one arm behind my head and focusing on the movie. “What’s not to be mad about?”

She’s quiet for a beat. Her shoulders start to shake, and I glance down in alarm, thinking I made her cry again. Her lips are pressed together, though, and she’s fighting a grin as she snickers. Watching her makes my own lips twitch, and then we are just sitting on my bed, hiding from our parents, laughing about how much we hate each other.


	8. Destined to Fuck up My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a side-ship~! And it's gonna be canon~~~
> 
> Can you guess who I'm shipping with who? ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

An odd respect exists between Beck and I now. We don’t acknowledge the discomfort of my first day of school, but we don’t go out of the way to be friends either. It’s almost nice. Or it would be—if Beck weren’t such an imbecile.

“You can’t just ditch me here! I don’t have a car,” I say, frustrated.

Beck shrugs. “Not my problem.” He and Mike climb into the SUV. Beck rolls down his window, leaning out to speak to me in the parking lot of Laurier Academy. “Just call your mom or something. Maybe ask someone else for a ride home—you might benefit from making friends.”

I gnash my teeth. “I don’t need friends. And it’s weird to ask people I barely know for a ride home!”

Mike leans over Beck to talk to me. “I’ll call Natalie and make sure she remembers to take you home, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

I groan. The last thing I want to do is ride in a car for thirty minutes with Mike’s girlfriend. She may look sweet with her strawberry-blonde hair and wide eyes, but I have a feeling that she would gut me if given the chance. “Don’t you have any other friends that have cars?”

Mike nods. “Yeah, but they all have dicks, and I don’t trust them.”

Beck snorts. “As if she would even know what to do with a dick.”

I frown. “Hey! I could definitely figure it out, okay?”

Beck looks at me oddly. “I was just joking. You totally just gave yourself away.”

I look away, muttering, “Did not.”

Beck starts the engine. “Just go with Natalie and let us leave.”

“This is such bullshit! You guys can’t just ditch me while you go to some party.”

“Uh,” Mike says. “Yeah. We can.” He stage-whispers to Beck, “Let’s go before she tries to climb in.”

I dart to the backseat door, trying the handle. I almost get it open before Jax, who sits in the backseat with Adrian and Kieran, clicks the lock into place. He laughs as Beck backs out.

“You guys fucking suck!” I yell after them.

I stand in the parking lot for a long time, watching the SUV completely disappear down the road. I kick the asphalt, muttering to myself.

It’s lunch period about two weeks since Mom and I moved into Bryant’s house. Wednesday. During Calculus, Beck and Adrian kept whispering to each other. One time I’m pretty sure I heard the word _party_ and _lunch_. I asked a bunch of times what they were talking about, bored to death with stupid formulas, but neither of them would answer me. Adrian has pretty much ignored my existence since the first day of school. I don’t think he’s looked directly at me even once. Beck hasn’t been much better, but I’m writing that off as his usual asshole personality.

After Calculus ended and the bell signaled the beginning of lunch, I followed Beck and Adrian to the parking lot, where they met up with Mike, Jax, and Kieran and climbed into the SUV. None of them would tell me why they’re leaving in the middle of school, but I’m pretty sure they just ditched me to go to a party.

Who parties at noon on a Wednesday?

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind me. I turn around, seeing Matt’s shaved head. I’ve only ever talked to him once or twice. He’s in P.E. with me, and my Economics class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. “What’re you doing out here, Baby Harper?”

I scowl. “My last name’s _Pace_.” I helplessly wave a hand at the empty parking spot where the SUV once sat. “My ride ditched me—and school’s not even over yet.”

Matt tosses his keys in the air and nods. “Oh, yeah. Those guys probably went to Kaiden White’s party.”

I lean toward him. “And are _you_ going to this party too?”

He nods, this front-to-back nod that kind of makes him look pretentious. “Yup. Want to come?”

My mood lightens. I grin at him deviously. If Beck was so against me going to the party, then I definitely need to make an appearance. “Sure! Are you leaving now?”

Matt nods and waves me over to a bright orange Dodge Charger. I keep any comments to myself about him having a typical asshole car and happily buckle in. I hold onto my backpack securely as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Where’s this party at, anyway?” I grab onto the oh-shit handle as he makes a sharp turn.

Matt grins. He has unnaturally nice teeth—like he’s either got veneers or his parents spent thousands on braces. “It’s at the White Mansion—it’s this freaky huge house like an hour from here. There’s a rumor that Oprah used to live in it, but I’m pretty sure that her place is a few hours away…”

I blink. “I’ve seen your house, so if you’re saying this place is big, it must be.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking oddly bashful. I stare at him discreetly. Matt’s not the most attractive person on the planet—he’s a little too hairy everywhere except his head, his nose is pointy, he can be kind of obnoxious in a sexist way—but he’s been nice to me so far. Kind of.

“Are you sure you’re cool with me tagging along?” I ask, watching trees and mountains pass out my window. “You said it takes an hour to get there?”

He flaps a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s actually nice not driving up there by myself.” He laughs shyly. “I was supposed to go with your step-brothers—”

“Definitely _not_ my step-brothers—”

“—but they ditched me.” He pouts, lower lip sticking out a bit.

I sigh. “Join the club.”

Matt glances over at me a few times out of the corner of his eye. I pretend not to notice, until he speaks. “You can control the AUX, if you want.” He points at the glovebox. “In there.”

I perk up, happy to destroy the awkward silence in the car. I pull out the AUX cord. An absurdly large box of condoms falls into my lap in the process. I sputter.

Matt laughs uproariously. “I swear I forgot those were in there?”

I shove them back in, plugging my phone into the AUX cord. I mutter, “As long as you’re not planning on driving me off into the woods and murdering me or something gross like that.”

Matt rushes to reassure me. “I promise—nothing weird is up! I wouldn’t do that.” He smiles, almost nervous. “I’m too scared of Beck to try anything like that.”

I nod, pulling up a music app. “Understandable. Just so we’re clear, though—” I thrust a finger at him, “I know Krav Maga, so don’t fucking mess with me.”

Correction: I’ve seen a bunch of _movies_ with Krav Maga in them. He doesn’t need to know that.

Matt nods quickly anyway. “Got it.”

“So, are you a country guy? People from Colorado like to think they’re makeshift country people, right?” I swear, if he requests anything that talks about dogs, beers, trucks, or guns, I may have to simulate a tragic car crash.

“I’m a K-POP kind of guy,” he says quietly. His cheeks are bright red.

I sit up straight, excited. “Me too!” I turn on a K-POP station, sitting back. I laugh when Matt immediately starts singing along. I have no idea if he’s pronouncing the words correctly, but I’m impressed either way.

“You’re pretty cool, Matt,” I say between songs.

His head jerks toward me, surprised. He grins. I notice that he has a dimple in one cheek. “You’re okay too, Harlow.”

***********

Matt and I walk into the White Mansion—this huge, modern house that really does fit its description as a mansion—with a new camaraderie. Matt likes anime, K-POP, and plays _Mutiny_ too. I’m not sure if he just gave me his gamer tag to be nice, or if he actually wants to play with me. Either way, I stick close to him as he parks the Charger, in which I leave my bag, and leads the way up a bunch of steps to the front door. He shows the tall, muscled man standing at the front something on his phone, and then we’re allowed in.

It’s not as loud in the house as I would’ve expected a house party to be—Hollywood depictions are always chaotic. The house is pretty dark, though—blackout curtains cover all of the windows and different colored LED lights make every room an epileptic’s nightmare. I recognize a couple people from school by their uniforms—not by name, though—but otherwise I see dozens of teenagers, and some people who look a little older, doing everything from dancing to… I’m pretty sure one guy is snorting cocaine off of the kitchen counter.

“Is this for real?” I mutter as we pass a bunch of kids sitting on a couch making out. There are four of them, and they alternate between kissing one person, to twisting and kissing the next person closest. I can’t tell if they’re boys or girls or other. I’m not sure I want to look close enough to tell. My cheeks feel hot.

Matt grabs ahold of my elbow. He’s been grinning since we got in the door, but his face is tense as he stares at the guy in the kitchen. He’s still bent over the counter, nose brushing the table as he inhales. “I think I fucked up by bringing you.” His eyes flash down to mine. “Why didn’t Mike and Beck bring you with them? Did they say?”

I scoff. “They wouldn’t even tell me where they were going.”

Matt’s eyes flare wide. In the dark, rainbow-hued room, his eyes look bright. “Shit. Shit, Harlow! This is not good…” He mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch as the music gets louder.

“What?” I raise my voice to be heard.

Matt swings his head back and forth. “We need to leave!” he yells. “Before those guys find out I brought you here! I’m dead otherwise!”

“You’re damn right about that!” Beck says from above us, leaning over the rail of a staircase.

***********

“Beck, man,” Matt pleads, watching Beck as he paces back and forth in front of an ornate fireplace. “I swear I didn’t know. You should’ve told us Harlow isn’t allowed to come to these things.”

“Why the fuck do I have to do that? It should be common sense!” Beck’s voice is raised. He looks angry.

I glare at him, arms crossed. “I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a party,” I say, as if I’ve been to a party before. I remember something. “And you don’t get to dictate what I’m _allowed_ to do, _Beckett_.”

An angry sound escapes his throat. “This isn’t some bullshit game, Pace. You need to stop butting your nose in where it doesn’t belong!”

Kieran straightens from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He stretches, red plastic cup in hand, his sudden lack of a shirt obvious. He’s the only one of the boys in the room; when Beck found Matt and I downstairs, he grabbed ahold of my wrist and all but dragged me up to this room. I’m guessing it’s some sort of library, or maybe a study.

Rich people.

I haven’t seen any of the other guys, though. They’re probably off doing something stupid. I sincerely hope Mike is being responsible, though—he has a girlfriend. Thinking back, I’m pretty sure Jax does too—this Asian girl named Amy who is in my Chemistry class, I think.

I really hope the guys aren’t actually assholes. I mean, they’re assholes all right—I just don’t want them to be _cheating_ assholes, you know?

“I’m sorry, okay?” Matt says, voice small. The bruise on his jaw from Beck’s fist blooms red and is starting to turn purple around the edges. “It was fucking stupid of me to bring her. To be fair, though,” he points at me in accusation, “she’s the one who asked to come!”

My mouth opens. “You’re the one who offered! I never asked to do anything with you!”

Matt sneers. “Please. You were practically salivating to come with me.”

I grind my teeth, eyes narrowing. “If anything, you were just a convenient ride here.”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, right. You looked so heartbroken standing in the parking lot.” He clasps his hands together mockingly. “ _They left me! Whatever shall I do?_ ”

I shoot up from my seat on the couch. “You’re a fucking liar! And at least I’m not so desperate that I keep a fuck ton of condoms in my glovebox!”

Matt scowls. “That’s a smart thing to do.”

“No, it’s a slimy thing that douche-canoe idiots do!” I grab a couch pillow and chuck it at his head.

Beck is across the room before Matt can reply or throw the pillow back. He grabs the neck of Matt’s shirt with both hands, shaking him slightly. Beck is so much taller; Matt has to stand on his toes to keep from choking. “You showed her your fucking condoms?!” Beck roars.

“No! She found them when she was getting the AUX cord!” Matt grabs ahold of Beck’s arms, trying to loosen his grip. He has no chance. Matt looks desperately at me. “Tell him, Harlow! I didn’t do anything.”

I frown. “Beck, back off.”

Beck’s eyes swivel to meet mine. His are a dark color, almost as black as his hair. He’s wild, furious. “You said he had condoms in his glovebox while you were in the car!”

I walk closer but keep a smart distance. “He did, but it’s not like he tried to _use_ them with me.”

Kieran walks behind Beck, grabbing ahold of his shoulder. “Come on, man. Let go.”

Beck jerks Matt close, hissing, “If I found out you tried _anything_ —past, present, or future—I’ll gut you, Dahmer.” He lets go of Matt’s shirt.

Matt slumps to the ground. “Got it,” he croaks, rubbing his throat. His eyes are angry as he glares up at Beck. “Can I leave now?”

“Get the fuck out of here.” Beck turns his back to Matt, rubbing a hand over his face.

I remember my bag as Matt starts to leave. “Wait! My backpack is in your car.”

Beck mutters, “Jesus fuck. Kieran,” he still doesn’t turn around, “go get her fucking bag.”

Kieran and Matt leave, shutting the door to the study behind them. I don’t say anything—don’t know what I would say—to Beck, watching as he breathes deeply, seeming for all the world stressed out. He leans against the mantle above the unlit fireplace, resting his forehead against his forearms.

“Why can’t you just not cause problems for _one_ day?” he asks, voice muffled by his arms. “Why can’t I just get drunk for once without having to deal with bullshit like this?” He sounds like he’s pleading, honestly asking me for an answer.

Since I don’t have one, I counter with a question of my own. “Why does it bother you so much that I came here? It’s none of your business.”

Beck lets out long stream of expletives under his breath. He straightens and faces me. His eyes are tired, as if speaking to me takes more energy than he has. “It _is_ my business, because if you do something stupid, it affects _me_.” He points at his chest. “It affects _my_ family, _my_ school. My dad will probably break up with your mom soon, but if you cause shit before then, _I’m_ the one who’ll have to clean up afterward!”

I don’t know what to say to that.

He continues, “Just stop trying to pretend you have any right to do anything. You don’t have a right to be _here_.” He motions around the room. I know he means the party. “You’ve probably never been to a party before! Stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.” He swallows thickly, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I get that your situation is shitty—trust me, I _know_ —but for both of our sakes,” he moves until he’s not even a foot away from me. “Lay. Low.”

My voice cracks when I speak. “It’s not like I’m _trying_ to cause problems…”

Beck takes a deep breath. Nods. “I know. Just be more careful while we’re both in this shitty situation.” He pauses, a weak tilt of his lips failing to make his next words any less harsh. “There’s just something about you that’s destined to fuck up my life, Harlow.”

I try not to feel hurt by that, but I know something shows on my face by the way his expression drops. I swallow thickly and turn away from him, opening the study door before I show him anymore of a reaction.

Before I leave, Beck says quickly, “I’ll take you home. Go to the car—it’s parked out front. If you see any of the guys on your way, let them know we’re leaving.”

***********

I’m trying not to cry as I shove through crowds of people. I try to find my way back downstairs, but I somehow end up lost upstairs in a hallway lined with doors. Based on the sounds coming from behind some of the doors, I’m guessing most of these are bedrooms.

I cringe at the sound of high-pitched moaning coming from behind one door, moving on quickly. One of my knee-high socks slips down, so I’m bending down in an attempt to fix it as I walk. A door opens in front of me, and I just barely escape running into it. Mike’s dark-haired head peeks around the door. His dark eyes widen, so similar to Beck’s.

“Harlow!” he says in surprise. He pulls the door closed further into him, half sticking out of the room. He looks behind himself into the room in panic. “What are you doing here?”

I grind my teeth. Great—I just caught him cheating. Who wants to bet he has a girl in there? “Matt brought me. Beck said to tell you and the rest of the guys that we’re leaving.” I squint at him as he swallows thickly. His uniform shirt is unbuttoned almost all the way, his belt undone. His chest is flushed, sweat dotting his pectoral muscles. “You’re a pig,” I spit. “You have a girlfriend.”

Mike blinks. He looks back into the room again. “What do you mean?”

I bark out a bitter laugh. This day just keeps getting better. “Your girlfriend,” I say slowly. “Natalie.”

“Why are you blocking the door?” someone says from in the room. Someone very, very male.

I blink in horror as the door opens wider and Adrian’s shirtless form is revealed. His chest is hairless but muscled, his defined biceps on display as he slowly realizes I’m standing in the hallway. His abdomen is taught and toned, hairless save for a trail of dark hair under his navel. His uniform pants aren’t even zipped up and I can see the waistband of his boxers. I choke on nothing.

Adrian makes a panicked noise and ducks behind a shellshocked Mike. “Holy shit!”

I find my voice. “You’re in on it too, Adrian?!” I try to get past Mike into the room, but he uses his forearm to block me. “Were you both going at the same girl?! Who the fuck is she?”

Mike doesn’t budge, hissing, “Be quiet!”

“No!” I exclaim. “You cheating bastard!” I slap Mike in the face, on Natalie’s behalf. I don’t know her very well, but Mike is a total piece of shit for doing this to her. “And how _dare_ you drag Adrian into your cheating bullshit?!” I go to slap him again, but Adrian’s voice stops me.

“Harlow!” He peeks around Mike’s shoulder. I notice idly that Adrian is several inches shorter than the rest of the guys. “Just stop, Harlow.” His voice cracks on my name, light blue eyes oddly wet. Guilt is obvious on his face.

Air hisses through my teeth. I point at both of them. “You two are fucking assholes!” I turn around and blindly stomp down the hall. Mike calls my name a few times, but I somehow find my way downstairs before Cheater #1 and Cheater #2 (Adrian, even though he’s not technically cheating on anyone) catch up to me.

I head for the front door, wrenching it open and hurrying past the bouncer guy and down the steps. When I’m almost to the bottom, a girl who’s ascending the steps leading to the door moves over so she’s directly in my way. I try to stop in time, but I still end up accidentally shoulder-checking her.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry,” I gasp out, fury at Mike and Adrian still taking my breath. Are none of the people here morally sound?

I vaguely recognize the girl from Chemistry—Anna. She’s the girl with the black bob who was sitting on Beck’s desk my first day. She’s wearing a very tight, peach bodycon dress and heels. I blink in surprise as I realize who she is; she must’ve come from school too. I don’t know how she had time to get dressed up, though.

Anna sneers at me, eyes trailing down my clothes judgmentally. “Ew. It touched me.” Two girls are next to her on the steps. The blonde I also recognize from Chemistry. I have no idea what her name is.

“Careful, Anna,” the blonde says. Her voice is nasally, like she has a sinus infection. I can’t tell if she’s actually sick or just speaking like that on purpose. “You don’t want to get rabies.” Anna and the other girl laugh.

I sigh. The world has asked too much of me today. “Funny.” I descend the rest of the steps, ignoring Anna when she calls out to me.

“Beck will never sleep with you, you know!” she calls. I refuse to acknowledge her, busy looking for the SUV. “He doesn’t associate with virgins.” More laughter.

Her words bug me, and I slow my pace, but I have a feeling that if I show her any weakness, she’ll pounce. Harpies, Adrian called them. Accurate nickname.

************

It takes Beck forever to round up the rest of the guys. Kieran brings me my backpack, now donning a shirt, seemingly completely bored with everything as Beck and Mike haul Jax to the SUV between them. Jax has an arm slung over each of their shoulders, completely limp. He’s giggling as they fold him into the backseat.

A fully dressed Adrian avoids my stare from the very back as he climbs into the middle row, propping Jax up between him and Kieran. At this point, I’m used to being ignored by Adrian.

Jax is completely trashed. I’ve never been around drunk or high people before, but I’m pretty sure he’s got more than alcohol on board. His pupils are blown wide. I sincerely hope he wasn’t hanging out with the dude from the kitchen. Cocaine isn’t something to mess around with.

“Is he okay?” I ask after a tense, silent drive back to Bryant’s. Kieran and Mike drag Jax out of the car once we’re parked in the garage. Apparently, all of the guys are staying over tonight.

Kieran grunts. “He’s fine. Just suffers from a case of chronic stupidity.”

Jax’s head tilts. He grins that Cheshire smile. “You got it, babe.” He tries to kiss Kieran’s cheek, but is sadly denied. Kieran and Mike practically carry him into the house, Beck following behind them like a worried mother.

Adrian stops me when I try to follow after them. “Harlow.”

I don’t turn around. “Oh, sorry. Are you talking to me again?”

He touches my shoulder. “Don’t be like that.”

I have a hard time meeting his eyes, but force myself to when I turn. “What?”

“You can’t tell anyone what you saw today, Harlow,” he says, eyes nervous but firm. He looks almost angry. I think he might be… scared.

I make a face. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Natalie that her boyfriend was fucking another girl behind her back. With his friend as an assist, at that.” I grimace, staring at him. “What you guys did was really fucked up—you know that, right?”

Adrian’s face crumples. He sniffs a little. “I know… Don’t tell anyone, though, please?” He blinks, obviously forcing himself to meet my eyes. “You don’t know how much that would ruin Mike’s life.”

I laugh bitterly. “Why are you worried about Mike? He’s the one who’s in a relationship!”

“It’s complicated! Please, Harlow.” He looks tormented. “Do this for me. Please.”

My jaw clenches.

“What are you two doing out here?” Beck demands, opening the door from the house to the garage.

Adrian’s eyes go wide with panic. He quickly says, “Nothing!”

Beck’s eyes narrow. He scans the garage. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Adrian stares at me, eyes desperate. He mouths _please_.

I press my lips together, but nod slightly. To Beck, I say, “Nothing’s going on.” I walk to the steps. “Don’t you have an inebriated man-child to take care of?”

Beck looks like he doesn’t believe me, but he goes back into the house. Before I get through the door to follow him, Adrian whispers, “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” I mutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment what you think I'm plotting!!! MUAHAHAHAHA ;)


	9. What the Fuck are Derivatives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Public Service Announcement: Calculus is the educational equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. Prove me wrong.
> 
> EDITED: 3/01/2021 (found a massive plot hole, fixed it, you get the gist)
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

Later that night, when I see that B is online, I immediately open a chat window.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I’ve had a shitty day._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _What’s up?_

Burdening B with the shit day I’ve had is the last thing I want to do. I just want to forget everything—Beck’s tendency to be a dick, Mike cheating…

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Don’t want to talk about it LOL. It’s just been a bad day._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Have you ever thought of meeting in real life? I know you said you live in Colorado too… is it creepy that I want to meet you?_

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _No, it’s not creepy. I’ve thought about meeting you too—way too often, actually. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if we meet…_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I won’t be disappointed, trust me. I’ll just be glad that you actually exist. Sometimes I think that you’re not a real person. You just get me._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I feel the same way, H. I’ve never been this close to a girl before. I typically have a hard time understanding the opposite sex LOL._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _At least you can talk to girls, though. I have a hard time speaking to boys. Although, my mom’s boyfriend’s sons are kind of an exception. They have this friend group of guys who are actually insane. Like I sometimes fear for their lives. Boys are idiots (no offense)._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _(None taken). And yeah, guys can be kind of stupid. All of my friends are male, and I sometimes feel like their parent. Jesus, some of the shit they do would horrify you LOL._

************

It’s been three weeks since I transferred to Laurier Academy and I still have yet to figure out what we’re supposed to be doing in Calculus. The Calculus teacher, Mr. Pollock, drones on about something that goes way over my head. I’m half convinced he’s speaking Portuguese.

I lean over, hissing at Beck, “What the fuck did he just say?”

“Shh.” Beck glares at me from the corner of his eye. His notebook is filled with neat notes. I look down at mine, filled with scribbles, stick figures, and definitely not calculus.

“How do you understand what he’s saying?” I whisper.

Beck grunts, moving his arm across his notebook, as if I were cheating off of him. As if I could understand enough of what he has written _to_ cheat off of him. I lean back in my desk, crossing my arms and pouting a bit.

Beck never wants to help me with homework. He has no problem doing calculus homework with Adrian at the kitchen table after school most days, but the minute I try to join them, he shuts down. His most common words to me are “be quiet” and “go away”; his most common facial expression is a glare.

I’m starting to think that Beck doesn’t want to be best bros with me.

“Adrian,” I hiss, giving up on Beck.

Adrian leans forward to see me around Beck, quirking a brow.

He owes me, I think, plotting to get some tutoring for my good deed as a human being. “What does this mean?” I whisper, pointing to my notebook with my pencil.

He nervously looks toward Mr. Pollock, who is in the middle of writing a complex equation down on the board in sloppy handwriting. The first week, I tried to blame my lack of understanding on the man’s handwriting; no longer is that an excuse. I’m just stupid as fuck.

“He’s talking about derivatives and chain rule,” Adrian whispers back, leaning a little across Beck to be quieter.

I stare at him in horror, then down at my notebook. What the fuck are derivatives? Does chain rule involve actual chains—and if so, will the school being providing the chains, or should I have brought my own? I look back up at Adrian. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Beck elbows Adrian lightly so he’ll sit back. “Jesus, just shut up,” he mutters.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harper,” Mr. Pollock interrupts his own dialogue loudly. “What did you just say?”

My stomach plummets.

Beck sits up straight, paling. “Nothing, sir!”

Mr. Pollock stomps down the rows of desks, stopping next to Beck’s desk. “Did you just tell me to _shut up_ , Mr. Harper?” He snaps his fingers, normally tired expression gone from his face. He looks murderous. “Stand up now. Get to Principal Edwards’ office and you can explain to _her_ why you were kicked out of my class.”

Beck slowly stands, eyes darting to my face. “I wasn’t talking to you, though! I was just telling her to be quiet because she was talking!” He points at me.

I gasp. “What the hell, Beck?” Fucking snitch!

Adrian looks like a ball of anxiety, staring up at Beck as he shoves his notebook into his bag. He doesn’t speak to defend Beck, though, looking terrified.

Mr. Pollock looks at me. “Is that true, Ms. Pace?”

I sputter. “Well, yes, but—”

“Then both of you to the office—now!” He moves back as I stand. I keep my head down as I gather my bag. Beck is still trying to defend himself, but he gives up and storms down the rows of desks, headed for the door of the classroom.

I follow him, throat tight, staring at my shoes. That’s the only reason I barely miss getting tripped up by a foot that jerks out into my path. I stop abruptly, seeing that the foot belongs to Anna and her bobbed hair.

She sneers up at me, twirling a lock of hair. “Oops. Sorry, didn’t see you there.” Her blonde friend snickers next to her. “Beck should really stop hanging out with you—you’re such a bad influence.”

“Get moving, Ms. Pace!” Mr. Pollock says.

I swallow, looking away from Anna and heading out the door. Beck is already gone from the classroom, but I see him down the hall. I pick up my pace to walk next to him.

He’s muttering curses, hands balled into fists.

“Sorry,” I mumble, almost tripping over my own feet in an effort to keep up with his long strides.

Beck scowls at me. “Don’t walk next to me.”

I blink. “But we’re both going to the office…”

“ _But we’re both going to the office_ ,” he mocks me. “If I get benched for this shit, Pace, I’ll destroy your fucking life!”

I press my lips together. “Are we going to get expelled?”

Beck snorts. “Nah. They’ll probably call our parents, though.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye as we turn a corner. “Your mom might be used to you getting detention all the time, but I’ll be lucky if my dad doesn’t beat my ass.”

I frown. “I’ve never been in trouble before. And are you saying he’ll hit you?”

Beck gets quiet. “No. Nothing like that. He’ll probably just get angry, maybe give me a fucking curfew for a week or two.”

“But you’re almost eighteen,” I protest.

“I _am_ eighteen,” he mutters as we enter the office. The receptionist tells us to have a seat and that Principal Edwards will talk to us once our parents get here. Apparently, Mr. Pollock already let her know what happened. Jesus Christ.

I sit down next to Beck and can’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on his bouncing legs, his fidgeting hands. His fingers are long and callused from sports. “When was your birthday?”

“August, before school started.” He looks at me with an odd expression. “Why?”

I shrug, picking at my bag. “No reason. Just wanted to make sure Mom and I moving in didn’t disrupt anything important.”

“You guys disrupted a whole lot of shit anyway,” he mutters sourly, crossing his arms. He amends his statement when I remain silent. “Not that it’s your fault. Our parents are stupid as fuck.”

I nod. “We’ve established this. They’re dumbasses. We’re superior in every way.”

“Got that right.” His elbow nudges mine. I nudge him back as we await our executions.

***********

Beck was right—Bryant is mostly just angry. After enduring a long talk with Principal Edwards, Bryant took Beck outside in front of the school, where the Porsche is parked; he’s been lecturing Beck for almost fifteen minutes now. Mom hasn’t said much to me, though—she made a comment earlier that I’m just acting out and apologized on my behalf to Principal Edwards. She now sits in the passenger seat of the Porsche. I can’t help but think that the look on her face is ecstatic as she watches Bryant scold his son.

Mom hasn’t been very subtle about her dislike of Mike and Beck. In their eyes, I can see her as the villain.

In my eyes, I can almost see her as a villain in her own right.

I honestly don’t think Beck deserves being berated like he is. Bryant has his hands up, practically scolding Beck like a child. Beck’s cheeks and neck are flushed, either from anger or humiliation or some mixture of both. Bryant says something final that I can’t make out from inside of the school’s foyer, but Beck nods, says something through clenched teeth, and storms off to the school doors. Bryant climbs into the Porsche and peels out of the parking lot before Beck has even made it to the front doors.

I hold the door open for him, unsure if I want to ask what Bryant said. Beck passes me without a word, hands balled into fists, teeth gritted. A muscle in his jaw jumps, drawing my eyes to the shadowy stubble on his cheek.

“Was he really mad?” I ask quietly, following Beck toward the cafeteria. I’ve never been gladder that Calculus is right before lunch period; I can’t imagine having to sit through another class right now. Guilt is making me nauseous.

Beck is breathing heavily. It takes him a minute to respond. “He’s more pissed about his _damaged reputation_.” He scoffs in disgust. “He couldn’t care less about anything else.”

“Wait—what did he say?”

“Some bullshit about how this better not make the school think he’s raised Mike and I wrong.” He growls low in his throat. “As if _he’s_ the one who raised Mike!”

I frown as we near the cafeteria. The hallways aren’t crowded yet, but soon classes will be let out. I’m not sure we should continue this conversation if other people can overhear. “What do you mean?”

Beck swallows, blinking. His eyes meet mine, swirling pools of dark brown. He seems to realize he was talking to _me_. “Nothing,” he mutters, ducking his head and entering the cafeteria. “Forget I said anything.”

“Wait!” I hurry to catch up with him as he steps into line behind a few other students. “You can’t just say something like that and not explain.”

“I don’t have to explain,” he hisses, looking around at other people warily. “It’s none of your business. Drop it.”

I try not to feel hurt by his words. Beck just loves to exclude me from everything important. Sensing that he’s not going to be any more open about this topic, I drop it. For now. “I’m so sorry,” I say quietly. “I really didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

He inhales deeply, grabbing a tray. I’m surprised when he pushes it into my hands, grabbing another one for himself. “It’s fine. It wasn’t really anything big, so Edwards said she wouldn’t tell Coach.”

“Still,” I mutter, moving down the buffet line. You read that correctly—Laurier Academy has a goddamn buffet instead of what public schools typically have: slop served by unenthusiastic cafeteria workers. “I feel bad.” I grab an apple, appetite still gone.

Beck scowls at my apple, putting a huge scoop of some kind of pasta on his tray. “You need to eat more.”

I blink. “Huh?”

He moves on, grabbing pizza, French fries—even a fucking side salad. He eats a ton of food. I’m surprised, but I do realize that this is the first time I’ve ever talked to Beck at lunch. Typically, I just grab a piece of fruit and hide out somewhere; I rarely ever even take a tray. I’ve been going to school here for almost a month, and I have yet to actually sit in the cafeteria. My favorite hiding spots so far have included the girl’s bathroom and the north stairwell.

“How do you expect to ever grow boobs if you don’t eat anything of substance?” Beck snickers at his own comment.

“Ha. Ha.” I pout, taking a piece of pizza. It doesn’t look like cardboard; I’ve eaten some gnarly shit from my old school before, so seeing real food in an educational environment is almost unsettling. Beck takes a drink and his tray, leaving the line. Students here don’t have to pay—meals are included with tuition, apparently. Rich pricks.

Beck notices I’m not following him when he’s a few paces away. He turns around, quirking a brow at me as I head toward the doors leading outside. It’s a nice enough day to sit alone on the grass, I’ve decided.

“Where’re you going?” he asks.

I slow, vaguely noticing more students filing into the cafeteria. “I was going to sit outside?”

Beck scoffs, frowning. “No, you’re not. It’s freezing outside.” He looks around, nodding his head at some guy as he enters the cafeteria. The guy nods his head back, that whole _bro code_ thing. “Just sit where you normally sit during lunch.”

“It’s September—definitely not cold outside. And as I normally sit in the bathroom or on the stairs during lunch, I would prefer to sit outside.” I turn to go.

Beck meets me before I can get to the door leading into the courtyard, swiftly taking my tray. His tray is balanced in his other hand.

“Hey!” I try to get my tray back.

He lifts it not even that high, lip quirking as I go onto my tiptoes to reach it. “Just sit inside like a normal person for once. Come on.”

I blink owlishly as he walks away, deeper into the cafeteria with my tray hostage. I mumble expletives as I begrudgingly follow him to an empty table near the back. Beck sets my tray down on one side of the table, his own directly across from it. He sits down, offering me a pretty smile.

And by pretty, I mean sarcastic. I mean pretty, handsome, evil, cruel, gorgeous. Beck really is something else. Unpredictable. I can’t read him.

He waves his hand at the chair across from him. “Your seat, princess.”

I grumble, sitting down. “Why are you the way you are?”

He sighs deeply, shoving a fry into his fat face. His fat face that I like looking at. “I’ve wondered that for a long time too. I think it has something to do with being naturally better than most people.”

I snort.

Jax shows up first, tray filled with way more food than any human should ever consume in one sitting. He grins, a piece of pizza clenched between his teeth. “Fmarlow!” he says brightly, words mumbled through the food.

I roll my eyes, assuming he’s saying my name. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He slides into the seat next to me, making gross sounds as he shoves the entire slice of pizza into his mouth. I watch in horror as he chews, vaguely registering Kieran, Mike, and Adrian sit down at the table. A few other guys and some girls take seats at the other end of the table.

“I heard you got called into the office?” Mike asks, slurping on a juice box. I silently judge him; I saw the option up at the serving area, but I went with a bottled water out of principle. Juice boxes are for kids.

Beck makes a disinterested noise. “Ask her.” He thrusts a thumb at me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whine.

Jax swallows his food, leaning into me. He has grease on his chin. “Aw, our little girl is going through a rebellious phase!” He ruffles my hair. I shriek at him, sure that he just wiped his greasy ass fingers on my hair.

Adrian, who sits next to Beck, says, “I’m sorry for not speaking up.” He sounds ashamed. “I just can’t risk getting in trouble—”

Beck cuts him off. “Don’t worry about it. Harlow and I are fine—no detention or anything. You have your scholarship to worry about.”

I say, “Sorry for dragging you into it, Adrian. I didn’t think we’d get in trouble.”

He smiles at me, blue eyes light, plausibly for the first time in weeks. His bangs are in his eyes again. “It’s fine. Besides, Pollock is a sadistic bastard. We’re not supposed to be going over those topics until December.”

I groan. “But we would be going over them nonetheless?!”

“How the hell did you even get into AP Calculus?” Beck asks.

I shrug, clueless. “My mom signed me up. I would never _choose_ that torment!”

Adrian chuckles. He asks Beck in a quieter voice, “Was your dad pissed?”

Beck makes a noise I can’t decipher. “Same old shit. He wasn’t happy my actions could’ve _‘ruined his reputation_.’ Whatever that means.”

“Dad’s an asswipe,” Mike butts in from Adrian’s other side. “He only cares about his status as a,” he straightens his uniform tie, frowning mockingly, “reputable attorney.”

Beck snorts, seemingly in agreement with his brother.

“It’s so nice that you’re sitting with us!” Jax cries, throwing his arm around me.

I shrug him off, finishing my apple. “Beck didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Beck makes a defensive sound. “You were going to sit outside!”

“I’ve been sitting in a bathroom stall for the last three weeks!”

Kieran coughs a laugh from next to Jax. “You’ve been eating lunch in the bathroom?”

I pout. “No. I haven’t really been eating lunch.”

Jax, face covered with something that looks suspiciously like barbecue sauce and that clashes with his orangey hair, leans close, suddenly serious. “You can’t do that. You _have_ to eat.” He points to my tray and my untouched slice of pizza. “Get to it.”

I watch as the mysterious sauce drips down his chin and onto his uniform. It’s horrifying. “I’m not sure that I want to….”

Kieran snickers into his tray.


	10. Only I Get to Call Him Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot - and I mean a LOT - of dialogue/messaging. I have almost the entire plot figured out for this story, though, so just know: I have evil things planned. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

The guys are staying over tonight. If I hear Jax make one more stupid fucking comment about sneaking into my dad’s bedroom and “keeping Rachel company,” I’m going to be sick.

“I don’t understand how you can find that bitch attractive,” I say, leading the way to the basement. It’s Saturday night, which means gaming and junk food. I’m looking forward to the guys acting as a barrier between me and Dad; he’s been acting like a dick since Harlow and I got sent to the office at school. Rachel hasn’t helped any—she seems to enjoy demonizing me and Mike in any way she can.

What sucks the most is that Dad’s falling for it. He’s totally brainwashed.

Jax claps both hands on my shoulders from behind, steering me toward the couch in the movie room. “Her tits are the best, kid. Even you have to admit that.”

“I would prefer not to.” I shudder, sitting heavily on the couch.

Adrian plops down next to me. “Is Harlow joining us?” he asks, picking up the remote and turning on the huge tv in front of the couch.

I shrug. “Don’t know.” I try not to think much about Harlow when I’m at home. It’s awkward enough trying to avoid her at mealtimes. Last weekend, I saw her in the kitchen at noon and decided that I didn’t need to eat lunch. I would rather not talk to her while we’re living in the same house.

The truth is, I don’t want to get to know Harlow, because I don’t want her to be here. As much as I’m sure she’s a nice enough person—if not a little strange—I would prefer if she and her bitch mother left and were never heard from again. Does that make me a bad person?

I feel guilty just for thinking it, but it’s true.

Mike and Kieran’s footsteps stud down the stairs. Both of their arms are full of drinks and snacks. “I told her to come, but she’s being emo in her room.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course she is.”

“Why didn’t you force her to come?” Jax whines from his spot on the armchair. “We need her to have even teams.”

“I’m sure we’ll survive.” Adrian gives him a pitying look that I know is sarcastic.

“Are we still playing _Mutiny_?” Kieran sits on Adrian’s other side, bringing his long legs up onto the remaining couch cushions and crossing his ankles.

Mike scowls and shoves his legs to the ground. “If we are, I want to be on Beck’s team. Last time, Jax sacrificed me to a zombie.”

“It was a ritual of the purest blood!” Jax protests. “I had to in order to get that upgraded sword, remember?”

“But I was out for the rest of the game, you idiot!” Mike chucks a bag of chips at Jax’s head.

“If we are playing _Mutiny,_ we’ll have to get a sixth player to make it even. I guess we could get a random player, or just use bots…” Adrian muses.

An idea clicks in my head. “I know someone who’s probably online right now.”

Four pairs of inquisitive eyes slide toward me. “Who?” Jax asks.

I shrug, pulling a laptop off of the coffee table and onto my lap. Dad bought five custom gaming laptops for all of us to use at the house a while ago. I don’t often like to admit that I’m spoiled, but Dad’s loaded. This is just a perk. “It’s just this girl I team up with a lot.”

“A girl?” Kieran sits up straight.

I scowl, feeling oddly protective as the laptop boots up. “Don’t get any ideas. She might not even be online right now.” They all stare at the tv as it syncs with my laptop display. “Are you guys going to log on, or am I just going to have to play by myself?”

Jax snickers and grabs another laptop from the coffee table. “You play by yourself enough as it is.”

“With,” Kieran pipes up. “You mean he plays _with_ himself enough as it is.”

“True.” Jax’s screen syncs. The rest of the guys log onto _Mutiny_ , and soon all of our screens are on the tv, the display divided into six rectangles with one rectangle blank. I’m excited to play _Mutiny_ with the guys. They never want to play, “because it’s hard,” “because I can’t ever win.” Blah.

I type out a message to H, hoping that she’s on. I hate playing with bots.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Hey. Want to team up with me and some friends?_

She replies almost instantly. I should’ve known she would be online, I think affectionately. H is always on _Mutiny_. She has no social life.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Sure. I’m so glad you asked. I’ve been trying to beat the dungeon server by myself for like two hours._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _That’s the worst server for single-player. Have you been playing all day?_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Nah. The Momster’s boyfriend’s kids have friends over. They’re being annoying._

I know H has told me her mom’s boyfriend’s sons are in high school, but by how she describes them, I keep imagining that these dudes are like eight.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _LOL you’re hiding from them?_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Obviously. Link me to the server when you have the game set up._

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Will do._

“She said she’d join us,” I say. A stupid grin is pulling at my lips, this giddy feeling warm in my chest—the same feeling I get whenever I talk to H.

“What does this chick look like?” Jax asks.

I go about setting up the game, splitting us into randomized teams. “I don’t know. I’ve never met her.”

“What?” Jax whines. “That’s boring.”

“Is this the same girl who just moved to Colorado?” Mike asks, shoving his face full of candy.

“Yeah.” I frown at the sugar. “Don’t eat too much of that crap.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

Adrian says, “Excuse me, but I believe _I’m_ the mother in this relationship.”

I nod, sending a link to H. “I’m the dad. Bigger dick.”

“That’s definitely not why!” Adrian elbows me.

Mike frowns. “I’m pretty sure my dick is the biggest out of anyone here.”

I groan. “Okay, firstly, I won that title. Secondly, I’m not comparing with you all again. We did that in middle school. Once was enough.”

Kieran nods. “Jax holds the title of smallest penis still.” Jax sputters, but we all stare at Kieran. He shrugs. “I saw him in the showers last week.”

“Why were you looking?!” Jax cries, covering his crotch. “Daddy! I feel violated.”

I scowl in disgust. “If you ever call me Daddy again, I’m disowning you.”

Adrian nods. “Only I get to call him Daddy.”

Mike snorts soda all over his shirt, coughing a laugh. His face is beat red. “Jesus Christ, Adrian! That’s my brother!”

My lip twitches. “Don’t you mean father?”

H’s screen pops up on the tv, her username projected in bold, **_Angry_Dino_**. I grin as I open a chat box.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I split us into randomized teams, so I don’t know who’s on what side. I just want to apologize for these guys’ idiocy beforehand. I take no responsibility for whatever they may say or do._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Great. So, I should blame everything on you, then?_

“I want to know if this is actually a chick.” Jax leans forward as the game loads on all of our screens. “Tell your friend to get on Discord. I hate typing.”

I frown. “You don’t need to speak to her.”

Jax scoffs. “Chill out, alpha wolf. I just want to ask her game related things—you know, strategies, meeting spot locations, bra size.”

“No.” My jaw clenches.

Jax opens a chat to H anyway.

**_Red_Thunder:_ ** _Hey, sexy lady! ;) How about you get on Discord so we can hear your pretty voice._

I watch the chat window on the tv in horror. I whip my head toward Jax, one second away from throwing my laptop to the ground and charging him. “What the fuck did you just do?!” I watch nervously as chat bubbles indicate H is replying.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _LMAO_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _And no Discord. The mic on my laptop is broken. Sorry, Thunder :(_

I almost forgot about her mic—apparently, she broke it by spilling water on it a few years ago. I sigh in relief. A private message pops up on my screen from H.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Your friend is creepy._

I laugh as Jax cries in outrage, reading the message from my screen on the tv.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Agreed._

“You ass!” Jax tosses a candy bar at my head. “I’m killing you first!”

***********

Decimating B in _Mutiny_ is always fun. One of my favorite pastimes, really.

Destroying B and two of his friends with the help of two of his other friends? _That’s_ heavenly.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _I totally downed you! Why are you still alive?!_

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _Your friend revived me. A, was it?_

**_Crying_Orca:_ ** _I’m sorry! I forgot she was on the other team!_

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _You traitor! Take him out, M._

**_MikDonald’s:_ ** _Roger._

**_Crying_Orca:_ ** _No! Don’t! Friendly fire is on!_

A banner appears at the top of the screen. **Player _Crying_Orca_ has died.**

I laugh. I’m the only player left on _Blue_ team, the other two—J and K is what they told me to call them—having died early on. I maneuver my avatar into a hiding spot in the abandoned hospital, waiting as B’s avatar walks right past me.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Come out, H. You can’t avoid the inevitable._

I laugh to myself, waiting until B’s friend’s avatar—M—walks past me as well. I slowly creep out behind their avatars, raising my weapon—a custom upgraded bazooka. It should only take one shot, at this point.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _If you insist._

I fire a few shots quickly at them, hooting in victory as two banners appear at the top of my screen.

**Player _Mass_Murdering_Turtle_ has died.**

**Player _MikDonald’s_ has died.**

Another banner appears in the middle of the screen.

**Team _Blue_ has achieved MUTINY!**

The open chat box closes out, showing that B has reduced it to a private chat between me and him.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Damn you! Good game._

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _GG. I think I’m done playing for the night. I have to sleep off my victory._

B takes a long time to respond. Finally, I see the chat bubbles pop up on my screen.

************

Adrian leans over my shoulder, watching me as I hesitate on what I’m about to ask H. “Just ask for her number,” he says, clapping my shoulder. He stands from the couch, stretching. The rest of the guys have wandered upstairs at some point. “It can’t hurt to ask. You’ve been talking to this girl for what—like almost a year now?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, but I don’t want to creep her out. I only just got the first letter of her name like a month ago!”

“Ask her, man.” Adrian heads upstairs, leaving me alone on the couch.

I inhale deeply, calming my nerves. Before I can rethink it, I type.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Do you want to exchange numbers? It would be nice to talk to you outside of Mutiny…_

God, I sound like an idiot. I feel my soul leave my body as I wait for her reply.

**_Angry_Dino:_ ** _I’m glad you asked first LOL. Sure! My number is 000-000-0000._

I stare at my screen in shock. My lips spread into a wide smile, a small _whoop_ escaping my mouth. I have her number!

It’s almost foreign for me to feel nervous about asking a girl for her number. Alas, I am.

**_Mass_Murdering_Turtle:_ ** _Mine’s 000-000-0000._

After a minute, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing a text message from an unknown number. I unlock my phone, pulse pounding.

 **Unknown:** _Hi! :)_

**Unknown:** _(This is H btw)_

I save her number, typing out a reply.

**B:** _Hey! This is B (just so you know I didn’t give you a stranger’s number LOL)_

**H:** _Thanks for clarifying XD_

When I join all of the guys upstairs later, they tease me about the wide grin on my face. I can’t make it go away, keeping my phone close by just in case H texts again.

************

I know what you’re thinking—giving a stranger I met online my phone number is stupid. Suicidal, even. For all I know, B could be a serial killer whom I just gave another hint to as for my location. I know.

Somehow, I doubt B is anyone but who he says he is. I, oddly enough, trust him. B has become my best—and only—friend, as of late.

And so, texting him constantly, every day, has become normal. I text him when I wake up, at school, during lunch, before I go to sleep—we talk all the time. And B is really good at replying quickly; he typically only takes a few minutes to reply, unless he’s sleeping or at practice or driving. Reasonable excuses. I send him funny pictures and memes, stupid shit I find online that I wish I could afford. He sends me glorious essays complaining about applying for college, funny things his friends say, and always invites to play _Mutiny_. He sends me music recommendations, mostly this soulful rock from the 90’s and some more modern stuff. I try to send him K-POP, but I know that he only listens to it because he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Which just makes him that much better, in my eyes.

I’m staring at my phone, sitting at my now-usual spot in the cafeteria—next to Jax, across from Beck—when Jax leans over to nosily peek at my screen.

“Who have you been texting so much?” he asks, trying to grab my phone.

I turn it off, tucking it under my leg and leaning away. “No one!”

He gasps dramatically. “It couldn’t be that you got a boyfriend?!”

Adrian looks up from his lunch. “You have a boyfriend?” He has this odd look on his face that I can’t decipher.

I blow hair out of my face, annoyed. “Of course not.” I snort. “Have you seen me?” I gesture at myself self-deprecatingly. It’s not that I necessarily look _bad_ in the school uniform; I just don’t have much to speak for. My boobs are basically nonexistent—my B-cups have been tagging along since middle school—and my butt is kind of there, but not extraordinarily so. I like to think that I would be appealing in a different country, or a different time period, but let’s face it—while I’m not damningly ugly, I’m not extraordinarily attractive. I’m just average. And I’m okay with that (most days).

Adrian frowns, a serious look on his face as he meets my eyes head-on. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re pretty.”

“Yeah.” Mike nods next to him. “And think on the bright side—you could have pubic chest hair like Dahmer.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, indicating to Matt, who sits next to him.

Matt exclaims, “Hey! It’s genetics. And I’ll have you know,” he sniffs in offense, “that the ladies like a man with body hair.”

I blink. “Has anyone actually told you that?”

Beck snorts, glancing up from his phone. “His mom, maybe.”

“How about the entire country of Italy?” Matt throws back.

Jax snickers. “Dude, even the Italians know that you have too much chest hair.”

“And why did all of the hair melt from your head to your body?” Kieran pipes in. “It’s weird seeing you in the showers—you have this shiny bald head and a fucking poodle on your back.”

“My hair gets frizzy if I let it grow out—and you know that I have,” Matt looks around warily, lowering his tone, “a receding hairline.”

“Don’t worry, Matt,” Beck says in a bored tone. He’s typing into his phone distractedly. “I’m sure you’ll find a girl someday who digs bald guys with hairy backs.”

“You really think so?” Matt asks, hopeful.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that Beck was being mean.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out, keeping the screen away from Jax’s obviously prying gaze.

**B:** _If I got a penny for every time I thought about ditching school today, I would be able to go to Fiji, all expenses paid._

**H:** _If you do, take me with you???_

**B:** _Of course ;)_

Someone approaches the table and stands right next to the end, between where Beck and I sit. I slowly look up, not expecting anyone important.

Anna stands with her hands primly folded, back angled toward me, staring at Beck. “You promised you would sit with me today,” she whines. Her bob swishes slightly as she pouts. Her lips are covered in some kind of gloss that smells like bubblegum. On her, it’s kind of gross.

Beck doesn’t look up from his phone.

Anna’s blonde friend—I still don’t know her name, and I’ve been going to school here for almost two months—stands at her elbow. The blonde speaks up in her breathy, high-pitched voice, “Becky, look at us.”

I snort. _Becky_.

Beck stills, slowly raising his head. He glares at the blonde, ignoring Anna. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

Jax cackles. “She called you Becky! I’m never calling you anything else again.” He and Kieran high-five.

“Shut the fuck up,” Beck tells Jax lazily. He leans back in his seat, sliding his phone into his pocket. He crosses his arms, sighing and finally moving his dark gaze to Anna. “Did you need something?”

She continues to pout. “You were supposed to sit with us today. You promised.”

Beck scoffs. “I never promised anything. And why would I sit with you?”

“I mean,” Anna sputters. “We’re dating, so you have to sit with me!” I can tell that she’s a few words away from stomping her foot like a toddler. I try not to grin.

“We are not dating,” Beck deadpans. He stands, pushing his chair in and grabbing his empty tray. “I don’t think I’ve ever even asked you out.”

Anna moves to stand right in front of him when he tries to leave. “Why are you being like this?” She smiles oddly. I vaguely think she’s trying to be seductive. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby.”

Beck looks freaked out. “Uh…” He looks over his shoulder at Adrian, then Mike. “Help?”

Mike smirks and gives his back to his brother, looking all the world amused. Adrian grimaces, as always being the nice diplomat. “Anna,” he says gently. “If he says you’re not dating, then—”

“No!” she exclaims. She looks back at the blonde, who has been rolling the waistband of her skirt so that her ass cheeks nearly pop out the bottom. “Leslie, you were there! He totally asked me out.”

Leslie tilts her head, nodding in a way that makes her look like a bobblehead. “Yeah.” She looks at Beck with a leer. “You totally asked to get into her pants, naughty boy.”

“Naughty boy,” Jax hisses quietly, slapping the table in amusement.

Beck shoots him a dark look. “Shut it, peanut gallery.” He stares at Leslie. “When did I ever do that?”

Leslie hums in thought. “After school yesterday. I remember, because I was watching the football boys in their uniforms, and you came over to Anna and asked if you could talk to her _during lunch_ today.” She wiggles her penciled brows.

Beck frowns. “Yeah…” he says slowly. “I said that—because we have an assignment in Anatomy and are partners. For the _assignment_.”

“But you said it in a way like you were asking me out!” Anna protests.

Beck pinches the bridge of his nose, setting the tray down. “Look,” he starts, “you’re a nice girl, but I don’t think we’d make a good—”

“Oh, no!” Anna interrupts him. “You don’t get to do that, Beckett Harper! You don’t get to break up with me like this!” Tears well in her eyes.

“Whoa,” Jax mumbles.

I frown at Beck. “Dude, don’t make her cry.”

He shoots an indignant looks at me. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You made her cry!” I stand, trying to wrap an arm around Anna.

“Get away from me, freak!” She slaps me away.

I hold up my hands and sit back down. “Fine. Just trying to help.”

Anna glares at me, leaning down into my face. “This is all your fault! Ever since you transferred here, you’ve been trying to steal Beck from me!” She points at me, shoving a long-nailed finger into my collarbone. “Don’t think you’ll get away with this, bitch.”

I frown. “Um… I definitely haven’t done anything like that. Why are you mad at _me_ now?” I point at Beck. “He’s the one who rejected you, dude.”

“I will ruin your fucking life,” she hisses, straightening. She spins around and storms off, saying, “Leslie, let’s go!”

Beck stares after her with a concerned glower on his face. His eyes meet mine, then each of the guys’. “I think we’re going to have a problem.”

Adrian nods grimly. “You think?”

I’m not sure what I did, but I have a feeling I just became Anna’s number one enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know whether the character POV shifts are easy to understand. If it's confusing to readers, I may go back in and indicate when I'm changing POVs. Thanks!!!


	11. Teenagers Can Be Horribly Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Thus, begins the living hell that is my life. If I thought things were bad before, once Anna sets her sight on me as the target, I realize that I haven’t seen _anything_ that Laurier Academy can throw my way.

It starts with small things, like Anna making stupid comments about me under her breath in the hallways, in class, at lunch. I can’t even tell you how many times she’s commented about how ugly she thinks I am, how fat I am (which is offensive as fuck, thanks), and how the school uniform makes me look like a twelve-year-old (can’t say I disagree with the last one, sadly).

It got really bad yesterday—Thursday, second week of September—when I got to school, opened my locker, and found a _used_ tampon and a bunch of trash shoved on top of my books. Jax happened to be bothering me between classes at the time and was quick about getting the janitor to clean up the mess; he, Kieran, and Mike took turns walking me to my classes for the rest of the day. They used the excuse that at least one of them was in a class with me, or that they had classes nearby. I’m sure at least Jax was late for a few classes, but he never said anything.

It was oddly sweet. I may or may not have cried a little in the shower last night, but I think that’s more of my being angry about Anna’s bullshit than being touched by the guys’ protectiveness. If I can even call it that.

The guys have gotten into a routine of being with me for most of the day since Anna’s shit started on Monday, never letting any of Anna’s or Leslie’s comments go unrebutted. I almost wish they would ignore my existence; it’s a small hope that if the guys leave me to my own devices, Anna will leave me alone. It’s not that I’m blaming the guys, but the reason all of this shit is happening is because they hang around me too much.

Of course, I’m not delusional that they actually want to be around me—we’re not friends. I have a gut feeling that Beck told the guys to monitor me and make sure I don’t cause anymore problems for him. Even though Jax and Kieran are funny and seem to enjoy my sense of humor, even though Mike and Adrian are always completely nice to me and include me in pretty much everything, I know Beck loathes my existence.

In the nicest way possible, but still. He hates me—only sees me as a burden brought on by my stupid mother and her inability to keep her legs closed.

And we have arrived at a completely different type of hell, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t mean to slut shame her, but my mom has really reached a new level of irresponsibility. Since moving in with the Harpers, and since the moving truck arrived (absent of everything of value to me), I don’t think I’ve seen Mom long enough to have even one full conversation. She started working at Bryant’s law office the Tuesday after we moved in, and she seems to be enjoying her job, I guess.

I wouldn’t know—every time I try to have a civil conversation with her about school or her job, she’ll make some comment about how great living with Bryant is and how she’s hoping he’ll get more serious soon. My mother, for who the hell knows what reason, seems disillusioned that Bryant will _propose_ soon. She’s been talking about rings and shit.

And with me being me, I can’t just let that shit slide. I have been less than welcoming of her chosen conversation topics; reminding her that she’s a poor, single mother always stops her rants nicely.

I won’t lie, though. I’m extremely angry with her for selling Dad’s stuff. The only things I have left of him are some pictures and a few of his college sweatshirts from UMA. I would love to say that’s enough for me—I can still remember Dad when I wear the sweatshirts. But it’s not enough.

I can’t describe how excited I was to finally be able to afford a new record player. I was heartbroken when Mom sold the old one. I remember listening to Dad’s vinyls in the living room when I was younger, dancing with him while Mom was at work. Dad was an architect for the city, so he worked from home a lot. Listening to his favorite bands—Pearl Jam and Depeche Mode, specifically—was always something I looked forward to. Dad knew every lyric to every song on every record.

He used to tell me how outraged he was at the use of CDs, and then electronic music. He always said he preferred the “emotion” of records, that vinyl could encompass the true meaning of the music, and that listening to Pearl Jam on an iPod was a hate-crime.

I loved him so much. I still do.

I inhale shakily and stare at my desk, knowing I shouldn’t be thinking about this stuff during Calculus. Although, if I do start crying, I guess I could just pass it off as mourning the loss of yet another braincell. Adrian would back me up, for sure.

“Now, I’m going to release class a little early today to allow the football and cheerleading teams to travel for their first game of the season,” Mr. Pollock says, adjusting his glasses. He’s visibly unenthused by the prospect of ending class early for football.

If this were any other class, I would agree with him—but thank the fat man in the sky for football.

Some guy up near the front yells, “Go, Laurier Leopards!” The class hoots and applauds along with him, starting this stupid chant that I refuse to participate in. It’s funny—or sad—that this is the first time I’m hearing what our school mascot is. I guess that explains the bigass cats all over the fucking school.

I slowly gather my things, seeing Adrian and Beck stand in my periphery. Beck knocks on my desk with his knuckles, saying, “Make sure you and the parental units aren’t late for the game.” He makes a beeline for the door, Adrian close behind.

From what I heard this morning on the way to school, Mom and Bryant will be picking me up, and then we’ll be driving to some town called Silverthorne, where the guys’ game is. They’re driving up to the opposing school a few hours early to practice and get ready for the game. I guess Laurier Academy does have some kind of bus service, but of course the guys have to drive themselves.

They would never set foot on—gasp—communal transportation. That’s what peasants do.

I’m distracted with shoving my (barely written in) notebook in my backpack when a presence near my desk makes me look up. Anna, black bob shining and neat, has her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts out. Leslie and another girl with dyed-blonde hair stand next to Anna, both wearing smirks on their painted lips.

“It must be so depressing to have to live with a face like that,” Anna says meanly. The other two titter.

I groan, standing and swinging the backpack over my shoulder. I hate that all of these girls are taller than me; I may have the attitude of a thousand Shinto Warriors, but I’m barely over five feet. On a good day. I used to hope I would be diagnosed with scoliosis or something like that—I heard somewhere about surgeries that fixed scoliosis and added several inches onto your height (which was a stupid thought process, but whatever)—but I am resolved to the fact that I’ll never qualify for the NBA.

For multiple reasons, but still.

“At least my face isn’t so full of silicone that I can’t move it.” I try to brush past Anna, noticing that the classroom has emptied, save for a few guys near the front, who are talking to Mr. Pollock.

Anna’s hand shoots out and grabs my shoulder, digging her nails in. “You and I need to have words, _sweetie_.”

I wince. “I don’t really want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.” When I try to brush her hand off, she digs her nails in deeper, right into the cavity above my collarbone.

I whimper and slap at her hand. “Let go of me, bitch!” My eyes dart to the front of the room. Mr. Pollock is now facing the whiteboard, writing some complex equation on it. One of the two guys standing near his desk turns and winks. He’s got short, dirty-blond hair and is someone I vaguely recognize from lunch—he always sits with Anna and her crew. I realize that he’s looking at Anna next to me.

A sinking feeling starts to spread throughout my body, alarm bells ringing. Have I been set up? I look to the door on the off-chance Beck or Adrian are lingering there. They’re long gone, though. I curse myself for being stupid and not leaving with them. Anna could’ve just cornered me at lunch after the guys left, though. Either way, it seems I’m screwed.

Anna smirks, a soft sound of amusement coming from her throat. She leans into me, putting her lips to my ear. “Looks like Pollock couldn’t care less about you.” She nods at me, saying, “Help me take out the trash, girls.”

Leslie and the dyed-blonde sidle up next to me, the dyed-blonde popping a piece of gum. They both grab ahold of my biceps, nails digging in.

“Let me go!” I say louder as they start forcing me to walk toward the door.

Mr. Pollock looks away from the whiteboard. “What’s going on, ladies?” he demands.

Anna flutters her eyelashes at him. “Nothing, sir. Just headed to lunch with our new bestie Harlow.”

“Keep it down, then.” A flush appears high on Mr. Pollock’s cheeks.

I gape at him in disbelief. If it was that easy to get out of his target range, I would’ve tried being flirty weeks ago! (As if I know how to flirt). “They’re not my friends!” I exclaim, looking back over my shoulder as the girls all but drag me to the door.

Mr. Pollock scoffs. “Get going, Pace.”

I protest, but the girls force me into the hallway, that same guy winking at Anna again as Mr. Pollock goes back to the whiteboard.

************

My back slams against the sink in the girls’ bathroom, the edge digging painfully into my lower vertebrae. I grip the counter to avoid slipping to the ground, glaring through my hair at Anna. She’s smiling at me, head tilted, blonde cronies on either side.

“What the hell is your problem?” I demand, standing straight. My heart pounds, eyes flickering to the door. Leslie blocks my path, but if I can take her out…

“Give them to me, Cara.” Anna makes some motion with her hand at the dyed-blonde. Cara digs through her purse—it would be too much to expect her to carry a backpack like the rest of the student population. My eyes widen when she pulls out a wicked pair of scissors.

Anna takes them, slowly opening the blades and slicing them together at nothing. Her lips quirk evilly. “They’re my mother’s—meant only for sewing. I can make an exception for you.”

There is no way in _hell_ this is real life. I let go of the sink and slowly drop my bag from my shoulder, gripping it with both hands tightly. “Come near me with that, and I’ll break your _fucking_ face!” I raise my voice, panicked.

Anna frowns thoughtfully, saying to Leslie, “I don’t think she appreciates our gift.”

Leslie pouts. “She will once we’re finished.” Her lip twitches.

Anna takes a step forward, halting when I raise my backpack. “Don’t fucking touch me, bitch!” I glare at her, eyes flickering to the door once more. If only I can get away—if I can get to the hallway, classes should be out by now. I can escape this.

“Oh, honey,” Anna coos. “You’re not getting out of this. Grab her, Cara.” As Cara steps forward, crowding me in, Anna continues, “This is what you get for taking my man.”

I stare at Cara as she creeps toward me, hands outstretched. She’s hesitating, and it allows me to inch along the counter until I’m a few feet farther away. “This again?!” I exclaim to Anna. “I already told you—I’m not trying to take Beck from you! He rejected you all on his own—he’s a big boy!”

Anna’s smile drops and she bares her teeth. “Liar! I’ve seen you—you’re all over him! The desperation is just disgusting.” She sneers. “As if he would _ever_ be into _you_.”

I would be insulted, but this could be my way out. “Exactly!” I nod. “Why would I even try to be with him? He’s totally out of my league.” Damn it all to hell, but it’s true—the douche is hot.

Anna agrees with me, “You do have the chest size of a grade schooler….” She nods slowly. Her eyes then narrow. “But I’ve never seen him get so close to a girl before. You must be doing something!” It’s as if a lightbulb goes off in her small, shriveled brain. “I’ll bet you’re so desperate, you’ve been putting out just to get his attention!” She charges at me, scissors held high. “You slut! Just like your whore of a mom—you’ve totally been sleeping with Beck. That’s the only way someone like _you_ could ever get his attention!” She laughs meanly.

“You’re completely delusional!” A lump of hysteria rises in my throat. I almost want to laugh in her face. A much darker emotion lies underneath, though, brought about by her accusations. Is this how Mom feels when I lecture her about being with Bryant? Does she, too, feel like crying? Does embarrassment well up her eyes and thicken her throat, resembling grief? Have I been so horrible—to my own mom? “Beck would never sleep with me!” I exclaim. For some reason, the realization that my words are true—that a guy like Beck would _never_ , in a million years, want to be with me that way—hurts. It really does.

“But you’ve been trying?!” Anna screams.

“No! Listen to what I’m saying—”

Anna yells over me, “Grab her, Cara!”

Cara, more resolved by her leader’s order, lunges toward me. I flinch back against the counter, swinging my backpack up and slamming it into her face. She screams, falling to the ground, clutching her face. The dull thud of the weight of my bag—and the weight is considerable, filled with several textbooks and a whole hell of a lot of gum—hitting Cara’s legs to keep her back makes me wince.

“What the fuck?!” Anna raises her voice at Cara. “Get up!”

I try to use the commotion of Cara crying to my advantage, making a last-ditch effort to dart around Leslie. She wraps her long arms around me, all but body slamming me to the tiled floor. I cry out as my shoulder takes most of the impact, head knocking into the ground from Leslie’s body weight.

“Got her!” she exclaims, proud of herself.

“Good job,” Anna praises. “Oh, stop crying, Cara.”

I blink blearily, trying to clear my hazy vision. Anna leans over me. I think I hear her tell Leslie to hold me down. I don’t know—my head hurts so much.

Anna grabs a huge handful of my hair, yanking my head up harshly. I scream.

“Shut the fuck _up_ ,” Anna hisses, pressing a hand over my mouth. I struggle underneath of Leslie, bucking and trying to through her off of me. Her boobs must weigh a ton, though, because I can’t get her to budge. She laughs from on top of my back. “Cara,” Anna orders. “Come cover her mouth.” A slow grin splits her face, lips painted red. I can’t help but think that she looks like some sort of demon hell-bent on my destruction. “I have a haircut to give.”

Cara, still sniffling, blood dripping from her nose, stumbles over and crouches next to my head, pressing her hand over my mouth tightly. As Anna raises the scissors and the first sounds of snipping reach my ears, I scream, the sound muffled by Cara’s fingers.

***********

I sniffle, brushing my fingers over the shorn hair that just barely falls past my ears. I’m bent over the sink in the same bathroom Anna, Leslie, and Cara have just vacated. A pile of brown hair is scattered on the floor near the sinks, but I avoid looking at it, instead splashing water over my face. My eyes are bloodshot and rimmed red. I can’t help crying at the image I depict.

If I thought I was butt-ugly before, I could really break some ugliness records now. My cheeks are pale, save for some blotchy spots under my eyes that I know are from crying for the most part of the hour following Anna’s departure. My uniform shirt is wrinkled and stretched out in the areas Leslie manhandled me. And my hair… Anna really should consider _never_ becoming a hair stylist. In short, she fucked my shit up.

My hair is poufy without the weight of the longer length. It’s a mess of curls and waves, covering my face down to my lips, falling over my ears and almost to my jaw on the sides, each lock a jagged chunk of mutilated, uneven hair. A hysterical laugh escapes my mouth as I stare at myself with wide eyes. I wet my hands, trying to press the hair down, to tame it somehow.

Behind me, a stall door creaks open. I jump about a foot in the air, spinning around with a racing heart, fearful that Anna is back to finish the job and make me go bald. Although, that might be the better option compared to what I have to work with right now…

A girl with caramel skin and curly, medium brown hair peeks out of the stall. Her eyes are wide, almost as dark as Beck’s. Almost. “Are you… okay?” she asks softly, eyes scanning the hair on the floor, my discarded backpack, then me.

I choke, irrational anger rising. Was she there the whole time? When did she get in here? I’ve been standing at the sink—crying, shaking, trying to pull myself together—since Anna and her horrible friends left, scissors in tow. “Who the hell are you?” I croak, throat scratchy with tears.

“I’m Jamie,” she says, coming out of the stall. A large, blue stain covers her entire uniform shirt, the fabric visibly wet and sticking to her bra underneath. She’s got a full figure, her bra dark and sizeable, visible through the stain on her shirt. Her wide hips fill out the uniform skirt nicely—whereas mine allow the damned fabric to hang loosely down my thighs.

I sniff. “How long have you been here?” My voice trembles with humiliation.

She sounds guilty, glancing down at her shoes, as she says, “I’ve been in here since second period…” She winces, tucking a curl behind her ear. Her hair reaches her shoulders, sticking out from the sides of her head in a way that’s strangely appealing. I vaguely notice that I’ve never seen her before around school.

Emotion chokes me. “So, you were here for…?” I motion helplessly to the hair on the floor.

She nods hesitantly. “I’m so sorry—I should’ve stopped them.” Her dark eyes meet mine. She looks ashamed of herself. As she should. “It’s just—if Anna sees me again today, she’ll never let me live it down. I’ve already dealt with the harpies once today.” Jamie laughs bitterly, gesturing at her blue, sticky shirt.

Harpies. There’s that nickname again. “Adrian calls them harpies, too,” I say faintly, turning back to the mirror. I see her step closer in the reflection.

“Adrian’s the best.” A flush rising to her tan cheeks. She moves to stand next to me, peeking at me out of her periphery. “You’re the girl who moved into the Harpers’ place, right? You hang out with Adrian a lot?”

I scowl. “What—are you going to warn me off now too?” I bend to grab my backpack from the floor, wincing as a bruise on my stomach aches. Leslie’s knees are too bony.

Jamie is quick to retreat. “No—of course not! I’m just curious. The Harper crew is so cool,” she gushes, leaning forward with strange light in her eyes. She looks excited. “Do you realize how lucky you are to get to hang out with them all the time!” She pauses, a slow smile spreading on her face. Her teeth are straight and white. Pretty, next to her caramel skin. “Have you seen Beck naked yet?”

My eyes go wide. I sputter, “No! Of course not! Why the fuck would I have seen him naked?!”

Jamie deflates, before immediately perking up. “Of course. Sorry.” She rubs her neck sheepishly. “Overactive imagination.” She laughs, this quirky, snorting thing.

I watch her warily. “Uh huh…” I step around her, planning on going straight to the office and telling Principal Edwards about Anna’s little stylist appointment. I’ve had my cry, and now it’s time to get a rich bitch expelled. The thought could make me smile—if I were in the mood to smile.

Jamie follows me anxiously out of the bathroom. “Where are you going?”

I sigh. I wish she would just leave me alone. “I’m going to tell Principal Edwards that Anna and her friends need serious attitude adjustments.” Jamie quickly steps in front of me. I halt, afraid of crashing into her and getting whatever the hell that’s on her shirt on mine as well. “What?” I say in irritation.

She holds her hands out, looking around and lowering her voice. As if anyone would be in the hallways right now—it’s only like two o’clock. School doesn’t end for another hour. “You can’t be a snitch, Harlow!”

I narrow my eyes. “It’s creepy that you know my name.” I step around her. “And this isn’t prison.” I scoff.

“Please listen to me!” Jamie pleads, gently grabbing my arm and keeping pace with me as I march down the hall. I stop, quirking a brow at her. She says, “If you try to get Anna in trouble, it won’t work. Her dad’s a judge—he donates too much money to the school for Edwards to ever punish Anna seriously. Trust me.” She gives me a pointed look. “I’ve tried. I’ve been going here for three years, and telling Edwards does jack shit. It’s only ever ended up with me getting shit poured on me at eight o’clock in the goddamn morning.” She motions to her shirt. She looks down and mumbles, “It’s why I typically hide out all day…”

I swallow. “I can’t just let her get away with this. She cut my _hair_ off, Jamie. My hair.”

Jamie’s brow furrows in pity. “I know. Just keep your head down from now on, though. You don’t want her going after you.”

I groan, yanking at a piece of hair over my ear. “She already has.”

“But she can get so much worse, Harlow. You haven’t seen anything yet…”

“Then what should I do?” I wonder, hopelessness spreading through my chest like fire. Never in my life have I experienced this type of bullying. Sure, people were mean to me at my old school—teenagers can be horribly cruel—but never in my fucking life have I ever considered it a possibility that a group of girls would hold me down and chop off all my hair in a dingy school bathroom. I’m so angry, so sad, so close to crying right now. “I don’t want to go back to class.” I sniffle.

Jamie perks up. “ _That_ I can help you with, my friend!” She drapes an arm around me, steering me down a hallway in the opposite direction of the office. “I have many a hiding spot. I’ll show you my favorites.”

A slight smile tugs at my lips despite my depressive mood. I think I just made a friend.


	12. You're Like Our Little Brother Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for of the continued support!!! As a gift, here's a longer chapter (we're getting closer to smutty times with every chapter). ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Jamie Haverford is a senior at Laurier Academy. Her parents sent her to a private school in the Rocky Mountains because she was getting bullied at her old school in California (because that plan worked out so well). Jamie lives in the dorms—she apparently has an entire suite to herself—and gets perks for being the _only_ person of color currently attending Laurier.

As we hide out on the roof of the school, tucked between the recreational greenhouse—which kids constantly try to grow weed in—and an air-conditioner vent, Jamie tells me about her situation. Her parents—Taiwanese mother and Jamaican father—run a beauty empire and spend a majority of the year working out of Taiwan and Brazil; making international cosmetics apparently takes up a lot of family time. She has only seen her parents a few times since her freshman year at Laurier, but she is adamant that she doesn’t miss them that much. She just can’t wait until she graduates and receives her inheritance—I’m guessing it’s in the millions. She plans to travel the world and to never set foot in another school again.

I envy her, just a little.

“And one of my cousins lives in Peru,” she says, sitting cross-legged across from me. She’s taken off her ruined uniform shirt and changed into a baggy gym shirt by now; it’s almost three o’clock.

“Why do you not get in trouble for skipping class all the time?” I ask, feeling a little better about my mangled hair. At least it’ll grow back. I’ve never had hair so short before. The light weight of it is completely new, the sensation of cool air on the back of my neck foreign. It almost makes me feel vulnerable.

Jamie scoffs and waves her hand. “If you think Anna’s parents donate to the school, you should see the amount of money my dad drops on this place every year. And besides, the administration likes to stay in my good graces because I’m one of the only non-white students here—it would suck for them to lose their _diversity_.” She snorts.

I frown. “I’ve been wondering about that. Is there some sort of racist admissions criteria or something?”

Jamie shakes her head. “Nah, nothing like that. It’s just where the school is located—I mean, in these small ski towns, most people are white. There’s a sizeable Latino population throughout the state, but not in these areas.” She leans forward and whispers, “Most people are too smart to live in places that are this expensive!”

I crack a smile. “It’s way too expensive here. I haven’t really found a reason for the prices, either—unless being surrounded by pine trees is somehow a luxury?” And if so, then every other state that has pine trees should be charging extra just to live around those areas. Christ.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” she says, leaning back on her hands and tilting her curly head. “It’s the tourist charge. Vail especially racks up the prices to con stupid tourists out of their hard-earned money. As if there aren’t dozens of cheaper places to go skiing in Colorado alone.”

I change the topic. “Are you going to the game tonight?” I’m not looking forward to seeing Mom and Bryant after the day I’ve had. I don’t want to drive thirty minutes to another small town, just to watch a football game I couldn’t care less about. I just want to go home, schedule a haircut appointment for tomorrow to fix the monstrosity on my head, and sleep for a few weeks straight. Is that too much to ask?

Jamie groans. “No. I can’t. My car is getting detailed in town and I didn’t get permission to ride up to the game with anyone. It’s not a big deal, though.” She grins. “I don’t even understand how football works. I just like to watch the players, in those juicy uniforms…” She hums under her breath with a dreamy look on her face.

I grimace. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ girls. If you start asking me to take pictures of Mike when he’s showering or something, we’re going to have problems.”

She laughs, blushing. “I would never ask that!” In a lower tone, she mumbles, “I wouldn’t be opposed to some Adrian pics, though.”

“Ew!” I chuck an orange peel at her. I managed to snag a few pieces of fruit from the deserted cafeteria before we hid up here. I’ve slowly been making myself eat over the last hour, knowing that I won’t feel any better if my blood sugar gets low.

I’m not very nice to be around when I’m hangry.

The final bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. I sigh, standing up and brushing my skirt off. I’m less than enthusiastic about slinging my backpack over my shoulder and moving to the roof access door. Jamie follows me down the stairs.

“If you weren’t going to the game, I would invite you to hang out in my dorm,” she says with a pout.

“You could always come with me. My mom and Mike and Beck’s dad are forcing me to go with them.” I roll my eyes. “They’re probably waiting in the parking lot right now.”

Jamie groans in disappointment. “I would’ve had to get permission a few days ago to go with someone else…” She points a finger at me with a stern look on her face. “But you’re taking me with you to the next game.”

I nod. “If I even go.”

She laughs as we walk slowly through the halls toward the school entrance. “You probably haven’t seen those boys of yours in their uniforms. You’ll want to go to the next game, trust me.”

“They’re not _my_ anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she sings mockingly.

***********

The Porsche is parked in front of the school—literally right in front of the doors, on the curb. Keeping my head down and away from the prying eyes of students as classrooms begin to empty—I’ve managed to hide out all day, but people have undoubtedly heard about Anna’s little stunt by now—I wave at Jamie and head toward the car. Mom and Bryant don’t notice me as I near, completely immersed in a heated conversation. I can’t _wait_ to get into the car (note the sarcasm).

My phone buzzes in the front pocket of my bag and I dig it out as I walk.

 **B:** _I’m sorry I didn’t answer you earlier—I was at practice. Have a game tonight. What do you mean you had a shitty day? What happened?_

My throat gets tight. I texted B right after Anna left the bathroom earlier, needing someone to talk to. It’s understandable that he was in practice, though. I guess football season is kicking off (I’m sure that’s a pun somehow, but I have no idea what football involves, so…). I message him back.

 **H:** _This group of girls has been targeting me all week. One of them did something really bad earlier today._

I hesitate to tell him what happened. I don’t want B to view me as a victim. Some irrational part of my brain is afraid he’ll somehow _blame_ me for what Anna did—I know, totally unrealistic, but I don’t want to tell him. He doesn’t need to know all the details. I climb into the back of the Porsche. Mom and Bryant keep talking without acknowledging me.

 **H:** _I’m just tired of people treating me like shit. It’s not my fault that I’m having to live with complete strangers. And you know those brothers I’m living with? Well, this girl thinks I’m trying to STEAL one of them from her. As if I would even want to—the guy’s a total douchebag._

 **B:** _What did they do, H? And do I need to come kick this dude’s ass? Why is he letting you get bullied because of him?_

I ignore his first question, but address the rest. Mom’s voice raises in the front seat, but I block her out.

 **H:** _It’s not his fault, necessarily… This bitch is unhinged. She actually should be put in a mental hospital or something._

 **B:** _Protect yourself—for me. If you ever get in a situation where you feel unsafe, know that you can always tell me. Even if we’re far apart, I can still call the cops for you and send a S.W.A.T. team._

I smile, eyes pricking. B is so sweet.

 **H:** _Will do. I have to go—Mom’s forcing me to go to her new sons’ football game KMPLS._

 **B:** _LOL enjoy the uniforms ;)_

 **H:** _WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT?!_

“Harlow,” Mom says, voice raised. My head jerks up and I see her twisted over the center console, staring at me with horror. “What in the world did you do to your hair?!”

I self-consciously pat my new do. “Some girls decided to take their lack of mental capacity out on me.”

Mom frowns. “What did you do?”

My mouth drops open. “What do you mean? Are you accusing me of _causing_ this?!”

She turns back around in her seat. “You will not be seen like that in public. Bryant,” she directs to the silent man in the driver’s seat. He is staring back at me too, except the expression on his face is full of pity and concern. I look away from him. “We need to take Harlow home before the game—she can’t be seen like that.”

Bryant’s jaw clenches. I blink at how similar his mannerisms are to Beck’s. “Knock it off, Rachel,” he says firmly. To me, he softens his tone. “Harlow, are you okay? Why didn’t you call us earlier?”

I press my lips together, vision blurring. My fingers twist together in my lap. I shrug. “It wouldn’t have changed anything…”

“When did this happen?” Bryant unbuckles his seatbelt so that he can look at me fully.

“During lunch,” I whisper. For some strange reason, I feel like I’m talking to Dad again. The realization makes me suck in a shaky breath and duck my head. I don’t want to cry again.

“Did you tell Principal Edwards about it? And which girls did that to you?” When I remain silent, Bryant’s voice gets more urgent. “You have to tell us, honey. If people are bullying you here, we have to know—otherwise, we won’t be able to stop it.”

“It’s just stupid.” I sniff and wipe my cheek. “These girls are just insane.”

Bryant’s frown deepens. “Where were Mike and Beck when this happened?”

“They had already left for the game,” I say, strangely defensive. I don’t want to get them in trouble—Anna’s actions are not their problem.

“I think I need to go have a talk with Principal Edwards.” Bryant starts to open his door, intending on climbing out of the Porsche.

Mom grabs his arm, exclaiming, “Bryant, stop it! Get back in the car—we’re going to be late to the game at this point. We still have to go drop Butch off at the house.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder at me, snorting in amusement.

I go still at the slur. “ _What_ did you just call me?” Sure, the haircut sucks, but using an offensive term associated with lesbianism is going too far. Even for Mom. Why is she being like this?

Bryant turns back to look at Mom. “What the hell is your problem, Rachel? Your daughter was assaulted while at school, and you’re making jokes about it!”

Mom makes a dismissive gesture. “It’s just a little fun. Girls do this stuff all the time.”

“No!” Bryant exclaims, getting back in his seat and slamming the door. “They don’t. This is unacceptable behavior.” He narrows his light grey eyes, so different from his sons’, at Mom. “What is wrong with you, that you can’t feel empathy for your own daughter?!”

Mom immediately backtracks, taking another approach. “Bryant, honey… I’m just trying to make light of the situation…” She pouts a little. I watch numbly. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed her tactics before. She’s totally manipulating him. How long has she been doing this to people—and has she ever done this shit to me?

Bryant stares at her for a long moment before he sighs. To me, he says, “Harlow, are you all right?” I begrudgingly nod. He nods back and buckles his seatbelt, starting the Porsche. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay? After the game.”

Mom butts in and says, “Just take her home before we head to Silverthorne. She’s had a… _long_ day.” She flips down her visor, opening the mirror and fixing her lipstick. My eyes meet hers, and I immediately stiffen at the warning in her eyes. She’s telling me not to protest, to let them just ditch me.

So that she can spend time with her new family, I guess.

Bryant shakes his head, though, pulling onto the highway. “There’s no time. We’re barely going to get there before the game starts, at this point.”

I protest. “But I look horrible…” At least Mom thinks so.

“You look great, Harlow. If you’re really that worried, I think one of the boys left a hoodie next to you in the backseat.” He reaches over the center console and points vaguely to my side.

I look over the leather seats, spotting a huge black hoodie crumpled on the opposite seat. My lip curls. “I would rather not,” I mutter.

Mom sulks in her seat, arms crossed. “Just put on the fucking jacket, Harlow. Your hair is a goddamn disgrace.”

Bryant looks shocked at her comment, but continues driving without a comment. He looks exhausted, as if he’s been arguing with her all day already. Dark stubble graces his jaw and neck, and deep bruises shadow under his light eyes. The poor guy looks like he’s been put through the ringer—if Mom’s bullshit is the ringer, that is.

Anger and hurt swirl in my chest at her reaction—or lack thereof. She appears to not give a damn about me at all. I grab the damn hoodie.

************

“Oh, stop whining,” Mom says, walking with her arm laced through Bryant’s toward the football field. We’re at some tiny public high school in Silverthorne; I’m surprised the school is even big enough to have a football team. “I’ll take you to get your hair fixed tomorrow.”

I press the hoodie—I’m hoping it’s Mike’s on principle—down over my ears, hoping that if I keep my head down no one will notice the butchered front parts of my hair, which can’t be concealed. “I don’t understand why I can’t just stay in the car,” I mutter.

Bryant looks over, gaze soft. He seems to be a lot more of a parent today than my mom is, for some reason. “It’s not a good idea to leave you alone like that in a strange town. Besides,” he grins, “this school always brings in a local ice cream vender for football games.”

I eye him in mock-suspicion. “Are you trying to bribe me, old man?”

He laughs and nods, handing some money to the lady running admissions at the gate. “If that’s what it takes.”

I follow Bryant and Mom up the bleachers, sliding my hands into the pockets of the hoodie as a brisk chill sweeps through the field. I have the hoodie zipped all the way up to my throat and am hiding the lower half of my face in the neckline. It’s this gigantic, black thing made of cotton—I lowkey love it. I may be debating if Mike will let me steal it, because it’s so big and warm, I just want to fall asleep in it. In the least creepy way possible, I like the smell of the fabric too—it smells cool and spicy, this lovely mint scent that’s oddly familiar. Probably Mike’s fabric softener or something. It’s mid-September, and yet the weather here already sucks; without this hoodie, I would freeze to death. I’m not looking forward to winter.

I sit down on the bleachers next to Mom, hearing the crowd murmur before the game starts. It smells like popcorn and something sweet, maybe cotton candy. I can see a small concession stand at the base of the bleachers’ side, a small line of people waiting for food and drinks.

“Do you want a hotdog or something, Harlow?” Mom asks. Bryant gets up, ready to head to the concession stand.

The thought of greasy food turns my stomach; I haven’t eaten much all day, and the last thing I want is something that will settle like a rock. “I’m good.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Bryant says as he scoots out of our row of seats. “You might change your mind later.”

Bryant has barely gotten back with three drinks and some snacks when loud music booms through the field. At the head of the field, a one-story building made of brick borders the track. I’ve been assuming that it’s some sort of equipment storage building, but the two doors at the front slam open and a crowd of cheerleaders dressed in black and arctic blue comes racing out of the building. I blink and sit back, watching someone in a leopard mascot dressed in an arctic blue and black jersey runs onto the field behind the cheerleaders. And then comes the team.

Jamie was right earlier—I’ve never seen any of the guys in their uniforms. For the last month or so of school, I’ve hidden in the library every morning and every day after school while they’ve practiced. I’ve seen the guys cart around huge bags of what I’m guessing is football gear and pads, but I’ve never actually seen them in their uniforms.

It’s hard to school my expression as I watch them saunter onto the field, confidently calling out to the crowd and cheering—for themselves, the assholes. I don’t recognize most of the team because they’re all wearing helmets—I wouldn’t recognize them even without the helmets, honestly—but I recognize the guy leading the pack just from the way he walks, stands tall above the rest of the players.

Beck is easy to spot. His jersey is crisp and pristine, proclaiming the team name _LEOPARDS_ in all caps. As he runs down the field, escorted by cheerleaders in ridiculously small skirts, I catch sight of the back of his jersey; _HARPER #1_ is written right above a number _85_ (I’ll bet anything that there’s a _HARPER #2_ somewhere over there). My eyes run over him, taking in the wideness of his shoulders from the pads, the way his biceps stick out from his jersey and tight undershirt, the way his black uniform pants hug his defined thighs and calves, his butt…

He stands tall next to another guy wearing a jersey near our team’s bench, hands on his hips. When his head turns to face the bleachers, searching, I catch sight of his face through his helmet. Beck is grinning, this feral, excited thing that could be terrifying if I allowed it.

A wave of heat shoots down my entire body, causing a massive shiver. I subtly squeeze my thighs together and swallow, mouth suddenly dry. I’m so fucking stupid, I think. Jamie was right: I really— _really_ —like the uniforms. Fuck.

“This is so exciting!” Mom exclaims, leaning into Bryant. “I haven’t been to a football game since I was in high school.”

Bryant grins. “You’ll get to go to many more, baby. My boys are aiming to go pro.”

I hide a gag and ignore them. Disgusting.

An announcement of the teams sounds over the loudspeaker as the opposing team comes out of the building, armed with a much smaller group of players and a small cheerleading squad. They’re dressed in orange and white. I have no fucking clue what their mascot is supposed to be—some kind of demented chicken-lizard hybrid? Maybe. Looks like it.

My eyes once again stray to the Leopards’ bench, searching out Beck’s form. I can’t find him in the sea of blue and black uniforms, though, but my eyes catch on two cheerleaders talking off to the side of the players’ huddle. One blonde bitch and a black bob.

As if she knows exactly where I’m sitting, out of this huge crowd in the bleachers, Anna turns her head and her eyes clash with mine. A shiver creeps down my spine as a serpentine smile snakes over her lips. She knows I’m here.

************

Once the game ends, with the Leopards winning by 28-2, I am no closer to understanding football. Several times, the Laurier side of the crowd chanted Beck’s name, or Adrian’s name, but I have no idea for what. To be completely honest, I have no idea what positions the guys even play, save for Beck being the quarterback—and I still don’t know what a quarterback is supposed to do. I don’t particularly care to find out, either.

I idly wonder what position B plays. I should ask him. I could pretend to be interested in football for him.

I lean against the wall under a light fixture while Bryant and Mom stand a few feet away, talking to a group of other parents as we wait for the team to finish showering. It irks me that Mom is pretending to be part of that group; the only reason she’s even here is because of Bryant. That strange building next to the field I mentioned earlier—that’s a huge locker-room, apparently. I’m guessing it’s split into two sections for each team.

The bleachers have been slowly emptying for the last half-hour. I don’t know what’s taking the guys so long, but if they don’t show up soon, I’m going to go make myself a comfy spot to sit and take a nap. Exhaustion pulls down my shoulders and makes my eyelids heavy. I yawn, pulling the hoodie higher around my face. Keeping the hood up all night was annoying, but at least no one was able to see my dreadful haircut.

A group of excitable voices sounds only seconds before a group of cheerleaders rounds the corner of the building. Their voices dim and their footsteps slow as they near me. I duck my head and pull the hood lower, pulse speeding up. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Oh, look,” Leslie coos. “It’s your first client, Anna.” She leans on the wall next to me, crowding me in and yanking the hood down.

I make a noise, halfway between a wounded animal and an angry cat. “Fuck off!”

Anna, a dozen cheerleaders around her—although, I notice that Cara is absent—leans forward and inspects my hair. She laughs lowly. “Nice haircut, Butch.”

My voice gets stuck in my throat. There’s that word again—the same one Mom called me. It makes me feel like shit. Less than shit. “Go away,” I croak, trying to pull the hood back over my shorn hair.

Leslie holds onto it, though, refusing to let me hide. “Don’t cover it. Anna worked so hard on styling it according to your personality.”

Anna nods, smirking. “You really should enter some beauty pageants with that face. I just made it easier to see your,” she glances up and down my body, taking in the oversized hoodie hanging halfway down my skirt, “attributes.” The girls around her snicker, making small comments.

I slap Leslie’s hand off, glancing to the side. Mom and Bryant are so busy schmoozing, they haven’t noticed the new additions yet. I debate calling out to them, knowing that they’ll come to my rescue—if only to keep up appearances in front of their rich acquaintances.

“Yell and I’ll cut off more on Monday, bitch,” Anna hisses, reaching out to grab a fistful of the front of the hoodie. Her expression wavers as she looks at the black fabric. “Where did you get this?”

I clench my jaw. “None of your fucking business.” I rip out of her grasp, slamming back against the brick wall behind me.

Her eyes take on a rage-fueled gleam. She gets right in my face. “Tell me where you got this fucking sweatshirt! Who gave it to you?” she demands, voice forceful but lowered, mindful of the parents only twenty feet away.

“No one gave it to me!” I shove her back from me.

“What the hell is going on?” Beck demands from the now-open door of the locker-room.

My head jerks to the side to look at him. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt, black hair damp and messy over his forehead. The cords in his neck are pronounced by the shirt, his biceps defined from the workout he just had. His jaw is clean-shaven—plausibly for the first time since I met him. He’s wearing loose jeans, hand sticking out of one pocket. As he takes in the crowd of cheerleaders, and then me, the relaxed expression on his face fades away. He moves out of the doorway, an army of tall, muscled boys following in his wake. I spot the four most familiar boys near Beck, including Matt; all of them carry huge duffel bags with the Laurier’s logo on the sides.

Jax, red hair dark from his shower, frowns deeply at me from Beck’s side. He drops the bag in his hand to the ground, storming over to me. He shoves Leslie out of the way dismissively, reaching up to grab a lock of my hair. “What the fuck happened to you? Have you been crying?” he asks, voice deathly quiet.

I swallow and stare up at him, gaze shifting between his green eyes. He smells like aftershave, this refreshing citrus scent. “Hey, Jax,” I greet weakly.

“Harlow. What happened to your hair?” he demands, face stone-cold.

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. I’ve never seen Jax serious before. It’s… unsettling. My eyes shift to where Anna stands, now several feet farther away from where she was.

Jax follows my gaze. “You fucking didn’t,” he says to Anna. She opens her mouth to speak, but goes quiet immediately, eyes widening.

Beck steps up behind Jax, jaw tensing as he fully takes in the state of my hair. The rage in his eyes makes me want to hide, to pull the hood back over my head and disappear, to cry. Beck turns his gaze onto Leslie, then Anna. “What did I tell you, Anna?” He steps toward her. The crowd of cheerleaders scrambles backward, almost tripping over themselves. Beck’s duffle bag drops to the ground, hands fisting at his sides. “Did you do this petty shit?” He thrusts a finger toward my hair.

I swallow thickly. “Beck…”

His looks back at me, dark gaze incensed. “Did she? Did that evil bitch cut off your—your fucking _hair_?!” He sounds so angry he can barely get the words out.

I gape at him, shakily trying to formulate a response. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I’m not sure if I’m scared or embarrassed. I don’t want him looking at me. I don’t want anyone looking at me. Tears glaze my eyes and I blink quickly.

“What’s going on?” Bryant demands, coming up behind Beck. He places a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Beck whirls. “Did you see her hair?” he demands.

Bryant glances at me warily and nods. “I did.”

“Then why hasn’t this bitch been expelled yet!” He gestures at Anna angrily. She gasps. If I weren’t so numb, so shaken right now, I would _dare_ her to play the victim card. Just try it.

Bryant’s eyes move to Anna. “You did this?”

She sputters. “I—how would I—there’s no proof—”

“The proof is on her fucking head, Anna!” Beck yells. I flinch back into the wall.

Next to me, Jax wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. “We should’ve taken you with us earlier,” he mumbles. “Never should’ve left.” I want to protest, to tell him that none of this is their fault. I can’t get the words out of my mouth through the white-noise.

Another man joins the group, a shorter man with a large belly and a bald head. He frowns. “What in the world is going on?” His eyes move to Anna. “Sweetie,” his voice softens, “nice cheering.”

Beck laughs darkly, staring right at Bryant with a hateful look on his face. “You know it was her, Dad. But you’re not going to do _anything_. Are you?” He leans close, an abhorrent sneer on his lips. “You couldn’t stand to call out that asshole’s bitch of a daughter.”

The bald man looks affronted. “What did you just say, son?”

Beck shakes his head at Bryant and scoffs, totally ignoring the other man. “You’re fucking pathetic.” He moves his eyes to me, tucked into Jax’s side. His dark eyes, almost black in the dim outdoor lighting, search mine. He swallows, glancing away. “We’re leaving,” he says quietly, bending to pick up his bag.

Jax guides me after Beck, pulling the hood over my head, nodding his head in thanks to Kieran for grabbing his duffle from the ground. Beck leads the guys toward the parking lot around the side of the locker-rooms, body language tense and irritated.

As he passes the large group of gawping parents, Mom steps in from of him, crossing her arms over her revealed chest. She’s wearing another one of those booby shirts. “Beckett Harper, you do not get to talk to your father that way.”

Beck plows by her, shoving her back with his shoulder as he passes. “You don’t get to act like my mom when you can’t even be a decent mother to your own kid, wench.” Jax snorts, arm tightening around me.

Mom gapes at Beck’s back, before her eyes find me. “Harlow!” She grabs my arm, pulling me away from Jax. I stumble. “Where do you think you’re going? You are not riding home with those horrible boys.”

I pull away from her. “Let me go,” I say tiredly, completely drained. I can’t decide if I want to cry or go to sleep. I feel like I’m not registering anything anymore. Maybe I’m disassociating or something—would that qualify as a psychological deduction?

Mom hisses meanly, “You have embarrassed me and Bryant enough as it is. You will not continue to play up this whole victim act.”

I scowl, pulling the hoodie’s sleeves over my hands. “Because I _totally_ asked Anna to chop all my hair off.”

She thrusts a finger in my face. “Watch your tone with me. I have had it up to _here_ ,” she motions above her head, “with your shitty attitude recently.”

My eyes narrow. “ _My_ shitty attitude? You mean the fact that I’m pissed at you for _selling_ all of Dad’s stuff?!”

“They were just records, Harlow!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up.

“They were _everything_ he was!” I scream, getting in her face. The hood slides down. Jax wraps an arm around me, holding me back. I’m seconds away from finding out my chances in a fistfight with my own mother.

Mike steps forward, staring coolly down at my mom. “What you did was horrible, Rachel.”

Mom sneers at him. “Butt out, kid. This has nothing to do with you.”

Mike flushes. Beck, having stalled a few feet ahead, steps between Mike and my mom. “You don’t talk to him that way,” he hisses. “Keep your fucking mouth closed.” He looks her up and down, lip curling. “It’s the least you can do, since you can’t close your legs.”

I stare at Beck’s shoulder blades, the defined muscles in his back, and remember how horrible it felt to be accused of slutting around earlier by Anna. I can’t summon any pity this time for Mom, though. I can’t find it in me to think Beck’s words are anything but true.

Bryant comes over, holding Beck away from my mom firmly. “Don’t speak to her like that, Beck.” His jaw clenches. He looks over his shoulder, at the watchful eyes of a dozen parents and numerous lingering cheerleaders and football players. “You’re causing a scene,” he scolds quietly.

Beck laughs darkly, a mean smile spreading across his face. “And you would hate that, wouldn’t you? You can’t stand to risk your goddamn reputation,” he retorts quietly. Beck shakes his head in disgust. “Whatever.” He storms off again. The guys and I immediately follow him to the parking lot.

Behind us, Bryant calls out authoritatively, “Beckett!”

I have a feeling Beck stopped viewing his father as an authority figure a long time ago.

Beck never once looks back at his dad. He unlocks the SUV once we reach it, tossing his duffle into the very back and then slams himself into the driver’s seat, fuming. The guys all deposit their own bags into the back of the vehicle, climbing in. Jax situates me between him and Adrian, Kieran booted to the third row. He doesn’t seem that unhappy about it, stewing in the angry silence that has taken over the car. Mike mutters expletives to himself in the passenger’s seat as the SUV peels out of the parking lot, eyes resolutely fixed out his window.

I slump in my seat, trying not to lean against Adrian or Jax. I both don’t want human contact and crave it right now. I would kill a dude for a hug. These dudes, sadly, are not the best candidates for that activity. I focus on breathing evenly, panic settling, trying to not make myself noticeable in this uneasy atmosphere.

After driving for about fifteen minutes, Beck exclaims, “They’re such fucking idiots!”

Adrian nods. “I’m sorry, man, but your dad is a selfish prick.”

Mike grumbles. “He can’t even pull his head out of his ass long enough to be a functioning parent.”

Beck swallows thickly and glances at his brother. “You okay, Mikey?” He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching out to grip Mike’s shoulder.

Mike groans and shoves the hand off. “I’m fine. And don’t call me that.”

Jax laughs a little. “You’ve always hated that nickname,” he comments, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

“Because it’s a stupid fucking nickname.” Mike mockingly pouts, tension easing from his shoulders. I listen in silence as the guys banter for a little while, rigid atmosphere dissipating.

Beck stays mostly silent through it all, until we exit off the highway, somehow already back in Vail. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, a sorrowful, worried look reaching his dark gaze. I look away.

************

We beat Mom and Bryant to the house. Beck parks the SUV in the garage, all the guys piling out. They made a collective decision to stay over tonight as a buffer between the parents. Mike leads the way into the house with Adrian and Kieran close behind, all laden with duffle bags.

Jax makes sure I get out of the car all right, being oddly sweet about it. The freckled crackhead looks concerned, none of his usual silliness present. When he quirks a grin at me and leans close, I blink in shock and forget to back away. He plants a soft kiss on my forehead and ruffles my short hair, lips spreading further into a smirk. “You’re like our little brother now.”

I scowl, trying to swat at him as he cackles and twists away, racing into the house to escape my hands. “You ass!”

Beck slams the backdoor of the SUV, rounding the side. I walk around the car and head for the house door, feeling calmer at the prospect of not having to deal with Mom by myself tonight. I don’t think I want to face her—not after how she’s acted today.

Beck stares at me as I start to walk past him. An odd look crosses his face, and he holds out a hand before I reach the door. “Where’d you find that?” he asks slowly, motioning toward the hoodie.

I look down in surprise. I completely forgot I was even wearing it. I shrug. “Bryant told me to wear it.” A scowl spreads over my face. “Mom didn’t want to be _seen_ with me.” I motion toward me hair bitterly.

Beck’s jaw clenches, before he nods in understanding. “Of course she didn’t. Okay.” He goes through the house door and I follow him. We’re walking down the hallway that leads to the basement staircase, me following behind him, when he pauses and turns to face me. He has a teasing quirk to his lips as he comments, “Wash it before you return it. Dry-clean only.” At my baffled expression, he chuckles, shaking his head and descending the steps to the basement without an explanation.

It takes me several minutes of just standing in the hallway, blinking in confusion, before I realize what he just implied. My cheeks flush, neck hot. I’m wearing Beck’s hoodie.

….. What the fuck. I’m wearing _Beck’s_ hoodie. _Not_ Mike’s.

Kill me now.


	13. Disrespectful Little Brats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little slow, but there's a lot of substance. I finalized the plot last night, and just let me say: you are all going to hate me once this is over and done with. I would apologize, but evil is in my blood (it's really not, I'm so sorry for the future). XD
> 
> I just want to remind everyone that this story is SLOW BUILD, emphasis on the slow. Thanks for bearing with me, if you will!
> 
> Enjoy!

When Mom and Bryant get home, they both storm down to the basement, obviously ready to rip me, Mike, and Beck a new one. When they catch sight of Adrian, Kieran, and Jax spread out on the couch around us, they hesitate. Mom tries to force me to go upstairs so that she can “have a conversation with me like an adult,” but I’m too content with hiding downstairs. I don’t want to talk to her like an adult—in fact, since I don’t turn eighteen until October, I still have several weeks of being a legal child. If it makes me juvenile and immature to avoid talking to her, I don’t care; after the day I’ve had, my head hurts, my eyes are dry, and I have absolutely no energy to deal with any more drama. Bryant eventually pulled Mom back upstairs, telling Beck that they would “have words” in the morning. At least one adult in this house knows when to not push the issue.

Before I settled in on the couch downstairs, I showered and changed into sweats. I threw Beck’s hoodie somewhere in the laundry room—if he thinks I’m actually going to dry-clean it, he’s got another thing coming. My hair has been slowly drying on my head, the short, jagged strands drying over my ears and down to my jaw throughout every movie.

Jax sits to my right side now, sound asleep, mouth open in a snore. He fell asleep about fifteen minutes into the first movie we turned on; apparently, the best way to fix Jax’s crackhead energy is to wear him out with football and a whole hell of a lot of drama.

Beck sits to my left, arms crossed over his chest, tiredly staring at the screen. He also changed his clothes—as did all the guys—and is now wearing a loose t-shirt and those grey sweatpants he always wears to practice. I avoided looking at him when I came back downstairs after my shower. I even chose to sit next to Jax, just so that I wouldn’t have to be near Beck and the weird feelings those sweatpants give me. Who the hell am I kidding? I know exactly what those feelings are: I think Beck is attractive.

There—I said it! Smite me if you must. It’s true: I, Harlow Pace, think that Beck is hot. In the most objective, removed way possible, of course. I think his face is perfectly handsome, his biceps so squeezable, his hair messy in a way that I find both endearing and beautiful. I understand Anna’s obsession, as much as I hate to admit it. And if it weren’t for the fact that a) I am way too ugly to ever have a chance with him, and b) that Beck is too much of a prick to actually be pursuable, I may have developed a crush or something stupid like that already.

I’ve only had one crush in my life, and it was on David Boreanaz when I was thirteen and delusional that he would ever know I exist (still holding out hope on that one). Yes, he’s old enough to be my father. No, I don’t care (we’re meant to be together—David, I love you).

Beck ended up sitting next to me because Mike took his spot next to Adrian while he was in the bathroom. It was this whole ordeal—lots of Beck cursing and trying to shove Mike off the couch, Mike laughing and holding onto Adrian for dear life, Kieran taking a video of it and threatening to post it on Snapchat, and eventually Jax waking up for a moment to tell Beck to sit the fuck down and shut up, before Jax flopped back on the couch and went back to snoring. It was awe-inspiring, truly.

Jax may have been the first to fall asleep, but all of the guys eventually followed. I’m pretty sure Beck and I are the only ones still awake. Adrian dozed off on Mike’s shoulder during the first movie, Mike following soon after. Kieran took a spot on the floor, hogging all of the couch pillows and three blankets—it’s like he made a nest, like a bird. Or a freakishly huge rodent with spiky blond hair.

Beck sulked for a while about losing his spot, all the way through the first movie. I think he’s fine now—he stopped grumbling over an hour ago. His feet rest on the ottoman several inches away from mine, his feet bare and illuminated by the light of the tv. I discreetly compare our feet, mine just over half the size of his sasquatch stompers, mine covered in one green sock with frogs on it and one purple sock with bats. I like to think that people who wear matching socks are sociopaths, but that’s just my opinion.

“Why are your feet so big?” I whisper in an effort to stay awake. A yawn brings tears to my eyes, and I settle back into the couch.

Beck turns his head toward me. “You know what they say about big feet…” I elbow him in the side, and he grunts. “Why are your socks so weird?” he retorts, rubbing his ribs.

I wiggle my toes. “They’re not weird. They’re unique.” Beck yawns and stretches his neck to each side, this small grunt escaping his throat that makes my blood rush south. I train my eyes on the screen and avoid looking at him.

“I’m sorry Anna did that to you, Harlow,” he whispers. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not your fault.” I look at him from the corner of my eye. The bluish light from the tv makes his cheekbones appear sharper, the line of his throat longer.

Beck scoffs. “Yeah, but we still should’ve taken you with us today. We weren’t thinking—I wasn’t.”

“Why would you have?” I ask. “It’s not like I’m on the football team—unless you drafted me without asking first, and if so, I decline the invitation.”

He laughs softly. “I can just imagine you trying to catch a ball and breaking your entire body.”

I nod, not offended in the slightest. “Very plausible. I tried volleyball in middle school and almost broke my wrist trying to serve. It was bad.”

Beck turns his head to look at me. Sensing his gaze, I tilt my face up. He lazily runs his eyes over my face, bringing up a hand and tugging on a lock of hair over my ear. My breath catches in my chest as he mumbles, “You really need a haircut.”

I clear my throat, struggling to maintain eye-contact in the dim light, to not jerk my head away from him. Can he hear my heartbeat? Is that a thing people can do? It just sounds really loud right now, in my ears, that’s all. “I’m thinking either a mohawk or a buzz-cut.”

Beck’s lip quirks. His dark eyes glint at me. “Nah, don’t get either of those. Just trim it,” he brushes the lock behind my ear, eyes following the movement of his own hand. “Leave it as long as you can. It’s a pretty color.” He blinks, sitting a little straighter, as if he realized what he was doing. He moves his hand to the top of my head, ruffling my hair. “If you cut it any shorter, we might actually have to start calling you Harold or something.” His cologne smells good, that spicy mint scent I’ve come to associate with him.

Heart in my throat, I duck away from his hand, scoffing to try to hide my flushed cheeks. I’m glad it’s dark in here. “Just try it, bud.” I watch the movie in silence for a long moment. “My mom called me Butch today. So did Anna.”

“Don’t listen to them, Harlow,” Beck says, tone firm. I peek at him. His jaw is tense. “Your mom is on a road to ruin at this point, and Anna is an ignorant cunt. They don’t know shit.”

I bite my lip around a smile. “You said the C-word.”

He snorts. “I can use the T-word, too.” He tilts his head to meet my eyes. “Your mom’s a twat, if I’ve ever seen one.” He smirks a little. “And I have.”

I make a disgusted sound. “Nasty. I don’t want to hear about how many girls you’ve fucked, Beck.”

He shrugs, settling back into the couch lazily. “I’ve had my man-whore days. We all have.” He motions around at the guys’ sleeping forms.

The memory of finding Adrian and Mike coming out of a room after having freshly fucked a girl crosses my mind. Under my breath, I mumble, “Some of you are still having them.”

“What do you mean?” Beck’s voice is fading, getting deeper, eyelids growing heavier.

I peek around him to make sure Mike and Adrian aren’t listening. “Promise you won’t tell them I told you?” When he nods, I lean up to whisper in his ear, “I saw Mike and Adrian coming out of a room together at that party. They were totally having sex with the same girl.”

Beck jerks back to stare at me, then across the couch at his brother and best friend. “No shit?” An amused scoff comes out of his mouth. “Never knew they were into tag-teaming.”

I swallow, knowing I promised Adrian I wouldn’t tell anyone. “You should really talk to your brother. He has a girlfriend—it’s messed up that he’s cheating on her, and with Adrian’s help!”

Beck eyes me warily. “I don’t know if I’d call Natalie his girlfriend… She kind of just uses Mike for his dick.”

I frown. “Mike said they were dating. And why would she only be with him for… _that_?”

He snorts. “Why wouldn’t she?” When I don’t respond, he elaborates, gesturing at his sweatpants with a smirk. I chose to ignore the sizeable crease between his pockets. “Same genes. If Natalie is going to use anyone for sex, it would be someone who shares my… endowment.” He winks.

I sputter, reaching out to smack him. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “That’s disgusting! Oh my god!” I accidentally bump Jax’s shoulder on my other side.

He startles awake, blinking blearily at me and Beck. “Get a room.” He turns over to face away, scrunching a blanket under his head to use as a pillow.

Beck and I stay quiet for a while, watching the movie and yawning alternatively. Beck speaks first. “I don’t like how your mom thinks she has any say in what Mike and I do.”

“I think she’s got some fantasy of being _your_ mom.” I snort. “Trust me, you don’t want that.”

Beck scowls. “If she ever talks to Mike again like she did today, we’re going to have problems.” His eyes meet mine. “I don’t mean to sound intimidating here, but Rachel needs to watch herself very carefully. I don’t fuck around when it comes to Mikey.”

I tilt my head thoughtfully. “You really care about him, huh?”

He nods, shrugging somewhat helplessly. “He’s my brother. I kind of…” He trails off, continuing after a minute. “I mean, I practically raised the idiot after Mom died.”

“You said Bryant took her death pretty hard, right?”

Beck nods grimly. “He did. The fucker was useless for two years. All he did was cry and drink and cry some more. My grandma—Dad’s mom—eventually forced him to go see a therapist. Mike and I were left alone a lot back then.” He swallows thickly. “I used to be so fucking angry at him. I mean, I know that losing Mom was tough, but it was tough for _all_ of us. Dad didn’t just lose his wife—Mike and I lost our mom too.”

“I’m sorry, Beck,” I say softly, not wanting to interrupt him.

He continues, “I learned how to cook and everything for Mikey. I made sure he got on the bus for school, that he did his homework, that he showered more than once a week.” He snorts, a more amused sound. “He used to wet his hair with the faucet and lie that he showered. He smelled rank until he was like ten.” Beck’s jaw tightens. “Dad has taken up an absent parenting approach since then. It’s like he figured that since I was taking care of Mike, Dad didn’t need to do anything.”

“But if you were raising Mike, then who was raising you?” I ask rhetorically, understanding what he’s saying. Completely.

Beck nods, staring at me like he realizes I _know_ what he’s talking about. “Exactly. And you know what pisses me off the most? Dad has been out of therapy for years—he’s totally functioning fine now—but I still had to teach Mike how to drive last year because Dad wouldn’t do it. He was too _busy_.” He scoffs. “It’s so fucking sad that I’m only a year older than Mike is, and yet I’m the one practically raising him.”

“He’s turned out well, though. Mike’s a good guy.”

“He is,” Beck agrees. “He’s a great guy. And I’ve never been prouder of him than I was when he got to skip eighth-grade. He worked his ass off for months to test out, so that he could start high school with me. He never could stand being an average dumbass like the rest of us, the nerd. And look at him now—he’s only sixteen, almost seventeen, and already a senior. He’s going to do great shit when he’s older.” A soft smile graces his lips. “But that doesn’t change the fact that our father is fucking useless.” He inhales deeply, running a hand over his face. “At least we’re both graduating soon, so we can escape during college.”

“Have you started applying yet?” I ask, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and onto my lap.

Beck grabs an end of the blanket, bringing part of it over his legs and toying with the hem. “Scouting season starts in October for sports scholarships. The guys and I are aiming to go to CU Boulder. I don’t know, though…”

At the thought of college, an incessant worry hints at the back of my mind. I haven’t even considered where I’m going to go, or for what degree. Mom said she would help me pay for college, so that I wouldn’t have to take out so many student loans, but I’m not sure I want to owe her financially after how she’s acted recently. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to get into college with my standardized testing scores—I haven’t glanced at them since I took them, so I have no idea if I even scored well enough to graduate high school.

“Where are you planning on going?” Beck inquires, voice husky with exhaustion, this deep baritone that makes the spot between my legs pulse with a heartbeat of its own. He folds an arm behind his head.

I sigh, pulling the blanket up over my shoulders and discreetly pressing my thighs together to stave off the ache. “Haven’t thought about it.”

“You should look into Boulder,” Beck mumbles. “It’s a good school.”

I glance at him through heavy eyelids. “You would be okay with me going to the same college?”

“Why not?” He yawns. “You’re not _that_ horrible to be around, I guess.”

As I settle down, the weight of the day catching up to me, a small smile spreads over my face. I don’t know when exactly I start to fall asleep, but I know that the soft sounds of Beck breathing next to me are a lullaby I nearly can’t resist. It’s so hard to get off the couch and go up to my room, but I do so anyway. No awkward mornings for me.

***********

On Saturday morning, Mom takes me to get my hair fixed at a salon in town. The stylist ends up having to cut off more length to give me any sort of manageable haircut; she trims the front pieces to give me longer bangs that hang down to my nose and clips layers all over my head. By the time she’s done, my hair gently curls just to the bottom of my ears and looks wispy with sharp layers. The haircut looks kind of cute parted off-center, but I’m still mad that my long hair is gone. I don’t think I can even pull this back into a ponytail or braid it.

Mom barely says a word to me the whole morning, tensely ordering me into the car, into the salon, back into the car, and then into the house once we get back to the Harpers’ house.

As she parks the borrowed Porsche in Bryant’s garage, I ask, “Have you found an apartment yet?” We’ve been living with the Harpers for over a month, and she should have enough saved up for a security deposit on an apartment by now. She’s making good money working for Bryant.

Mom looks irritated, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning the car off. “No, Harlow. I haven’t had time.”

My brow furrows. “But it’s been like a month. What have you been doing—I thought you went to look at listings last weekend?” She’s been borrowing the Porsche every Saturday to go look at apartment and townhouse listings in the area, but she always refuses to let me go with her. It doesn’t usually take that long to find an available apartment, right? I know that Vail has limited housing options, but there are _some_ places for rent that we can afford.

“I’m not in a rush to find some shithole to live in!” She shakes her head, opening the car door and getting out. She drags her new purse with her, this huge, white leather thing that could hold all of my textbooks in it. I’m pretty sure Bryant gifted it to her, but I don’t know when.

I get out of the car, following her into the house. “But we can’t live here forever, Mom! It would make things so much easier on everyone if we just got our own place—”

In the hallway leading to the kitchen, she whirls, finger pointed at me. “Shut your mouth,” she hisses quietly. “If I have anything to say about it, we’ll be living here for a very long time.”

I scowl. “You can’t think that Bryant wants us to keep mooching off of him. That’s ridiculous.”

“Harlow,” she warns. “Our relationship has progressed recently.” She leans close to me, putting her lips to my ear. “I think he’s going to propose soon.” For some reason, that sounds more like a threat than an expression of excitement.

I roll my eyes. “You mentioned that a while ago.” I glance pointedly at her hands. “And yet, no ring.”

Mom bares her teeth at me, making a frustrated noise. I idly notice that she has burgundy lipstick on her front teeth. She turns around, marching into the kitchen. Exasperated with her lack of logic about our housing situation, I follow after her.

It’s only ten o’clock in the morning, so I’m not surprised to see that the boys are still lingering around. Beck leans against the counter near the stove, a spatula in hand. Mike, Adrian, and Kieran are sitting at the table, huge plates of pancakes in front of them. Jax is standing next to the sink, holding a plate of his own. They’re all wearing sweatpants and t-shirts, hair messy, expressions soft and bleary with sleep. My lips twitch with the realization that they look kind of cute like this, all unthreatening.

Jax grins around a huge mouthful of pancakes when he sees me. “Little bro! Nice haircut.”

My eyes narrow and I slide into a seat at the table across from Adrian and next to Mike. “It’s like you want me to kill you,” I respond to Jax.

Mike pushes an empty plate toward me, gesturing at the platter of warm pancakes in the center of the table. “You haven’t eaten yet, right?”

I thank him and put a pancake onto my plate. I’m not feeling very hungry, but as I ate barely anything yesterday, I guess I should eat something of substance.

Beck brings over a platter of eggs and bacon as I’m dousing my pancake in syrup. He slides into the seat next to Adrian, lip quirking as our eyes meet. “Better haircut. Not so horrifying to look at.”

I roll my eyes. “I had to get two more inches cut off because Anna did such a shoddy job. I do not recommend her as a stylist.”

“Did you leave a Yelp review?” Jax asks, sliding into the seat next to me with his plate. Nice of him to figure out that shoveling food into his face by the sink isn’t socially acceptable. “I’ve heard those things can ruin businesses.”

I hum. “I might consider it.” If only I had some way to pay Anna back. I almost just want to forget it, though; I know the guys are angry on my behalf, but I’m just not that interested in starting a war with rich kids. It feels like a coward move to want to ignore Anna for the rest of the schoolyear, but that’s where I’m at. Dealing with her bullshit is too much.

“Your hair does look really nice, Harlow,” Adrian says, offering me a smile. “I know it’s not under the best circumstances, but the hair’s cute.” He shrugs.

Jax grins and leans across the table, almost pushing his shirt into his plate. “Does somebody have a crush?”

Adrian scowls. “Of course not. Don’t be a dick.”

I nod. “That would be weird.” All of the guys stare at me as I grab an empty glass from the middle of the table and fill it with orange juice. I shrug defensively. “What? I don’t need any more drama right now.” I point at Adrian. “And no offense, but you’re not my type.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “As much as I would love to be your soulmate, I would have to agree with you.” He sniffles mockingly. “But the rejection hurts nonetheless!”

Beck snorts and rubs his back. “Poor baby. We’ll find you a rebound soon.”

Adrian nods, brown bangs shifting across his eyes. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Jax cackles while I stare in horror. “I see you’re still keeping that joke running!”

“Did you just call him Daddy?” I whisper, staring at Adrian with trauma. Actual trauma.

His eyes go wide. “It’s just a joke! I—Beck, you explain.”

Beck grumbles, piling pancakes and bacon onto his plate. “It’s stupid. The joke is that I’m the dad, Adrian’s the mom—”

“And I’m their favorite son!” Jax interrupts. “Mike and Kieran are the trial and the error.”

“Rude.” Kieran pouts. “At least I don’t have to fictionally sleep with Beck.” He shudders. “That would be horrendous.”

“You would love it,” Beck says through a mouthful of food. “I would make you scream, baby.” He winks at Kieran.

“Save that for me, Daddy.” Adrian places a hand on Beck’s shoulder, batting his eyelashes to support the act.

I laugh, sipping my orange juice. These guys are unreal.

Jax pipes in, “Thanks for taking a bullet for us, Adrian. Truly. Fictionally sleeping with Beck is a sacrifice none of us are brave enough to make.”

Mike nods. “I’m not into incest, thanks.”

Bryant and Mom choose that moment to waltz into the kitchen. Bryant raises an eyebrow. “What’s this I hear about incest?”

Any humor in Beck’s expression dissipates. He glowers down at his food, ignoring his father. Mike does the same, knuckles whitening around his fork.

When no one responds, Bryant clears his throat. “After breakfast, Mike can drive you three home.” He nods at Adrian, Kieran, and Jax.

Mike’s jaw clenches, dark hair scattered around his head. “Why do they have to leave?”

“Because I need to talk to Beck, and none of you need to be here for it.” Bryant takes a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. Mom leans smugly against the doorway, arms crossed. She’s changed into a purple shirt that has a deep neckline imbedded with sparkles. I’m getting really tired of seeing my mom’s boobs.

“I don’t have a problem with them staying here,” Beck rumbles, tone low. His dark eyes drill into Bryant defiantly.

Bryant scowls. “I’m not playing games today, Beckett. You and I need to talk.”

“Why can’t I be there for it?” Mike demands, slamming the fork down on his plate.

“Because I fucking said so, Michael!” Bryant roars. “You have a driver’s license, and you _will_ take those boys home while the adults talk. Stop throwing a fit—you’re not a toddler.”

Mike’s chest heaves as he stares at his dad. I swallow and lean back in my seat, watching Bryant with wide eyes. I’ve never seen a grown man yell like that before. I don’t think Dad yelled at me once my whole life; he scolded me, yeah, but actually yelling at your kids is different.

“Don’t fucking talk to him like that!” Beck pushes his chair back and stands, rounding the table. His hands are balled at his side, protectiveness and fury making him appear larger than normal. Beck really is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to Mike.

Bryant waves a hand at Beck dismissively, walking out of the kitchen. As he passes Mom in the doorway, she places a hand on his arm and _caresses_ him as he leaves. It’s revolting. I’m shocked at Bryant’s behavior, though. Who’s really the teenager here? He completely ignored his son and just left.

Beck hisses in frustration, raking his hands through his hair over and over again. He storms over to the sink and leans his hands on the edge, leaning low over it. I have a suspicion he’s having trouble controlling his anger right now. Beck isn’t the kind of person to break down in front of others. In front of Mike.

Mom pushes off of the doorframe, walking over to the table. Her boobs bounce with each step, as if she’s purposely pushing her chest out. I doubt she’s wearing a bra, and that fact pisses me off. What kind of adult woman walks around a house full of teenage boys without a bra on? What the fuck is her game? It’s so disgusting, so inappropriate, that I wish I weren’t related to her.

“You and I are going to have a talk too,” Mom says.

I sigh. “Fine. Do you also want to yell unnecessarily? Maybe make a fool of yourself like your boyfriend did?” I wave a hand at the door Bryant left through. “You guys are competing to see who the bigger imbecile is, right? Well, right now, you’re losing.”

“I think it’s a tie,” Beck says in a dark voice, turning away from the sink. “They’re both fucking dumbasses.”

“You horrible boy!” Mom exclaims. She looks from my scowl to Beck’s. “Do you see what you’ve done to my daughter? You’ve turned her into a disrespectful little brat!” She glares at me. “You need to stop associating with these kids, Harlow. They’re not good influences.”

I roll my eyes and push back from the table. If Beck is supporting me and he’s standing, I guess I will too. “I like to think that I’m a bad influence on _them_.” I give her a sarcastic smile. “It’s part of my charm.”

Mom points a finger at me, leaning over slightly as she hisses, “We are going to deal with your attitude once and for all today, Harlow Pace.” I hate that when she leans over, I can practically see all the way to her bellybutton down her shirt. It’s gross.

“Whatever.”

Mom turns on her heel and leaves the kitchen in a waspish storm. My eyes meet Beck’s across the kitchen. His hair is mussed from running his fingers through it, his eyes dark and grim. I press my lips together. Once the boys leave, our buffer will be gone. Wonderful.


	14. Disengage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some more drama~!

“Your behavior recently has been unacceptable, Beckett,” Dad says, scowling at me from the loveseat in the living room. Next to him, Rachel nods her head. She’s wearing this purple shirt that I’m pretty sure she fished out of the dumpster at a strip club.

I glare at her, knowing that she’s been talking to Dad about me and Mike, making it seem like we’re demon children or something. Conniving bitch. “You haven’t exactly been acting like an exemplary adult,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning back into the couch. Harlow, seated two cushions away on the couch, slouches with a sullen look on her face. I’m almost glad she’s here with me for this; I don’t think I could be civil with Dad by myself right now.

“You don’t get to comment on my private life,” Dad scolds. “Ever since Rachel moved in, you and your brother have acted like spoiled rotten brats. I know I didn’t raise you like that.”

I seethe. “As if you actually raised me at all.”

“Watch who you’re talking to! Whose house do you live in? Who do you think pays for your cushy private school?” His voice is tense with anger.

I sneer and lean back. “Buying people with money might satisfy _her_ ,” I rudely gesture at Rachel, “but I’m not a whore. I am your fucking son.”

“Beckett!” Dad sits up.

Rachel whines and coos, rubbing a long-nailed hand up and down his arm. “He’s just jealous, honey. It must be hard for him to accept me as his new mom.” The disgust I feel at those words is inexplicable.

Harlow scoffs contemptuously. “Would you stop inserting yourself into other peoples’ lives?”

Rachel takes her hand off of Dad’s shoulder and taps her knee, a smug look sliding over her face. “Would you like to tell them, or should I?” she asks Dad.

He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He meets my eyes, then Harlow’s. “We wanted to tell you two before we told Mike. He can be a bit… immature.”

Not liking the way in which he says that, I hiss, “He’s sixteen. Of course he’s not going to handle everything like a _reputable attorney_ would!”

Dad ignores me—as he’s become accustomed to doing these days—and picks up Rachel’s hand, lacing their fingers together. A faint smile crosses his lips. “Rachel and I have decided to get married. I proposed this morning—about an hour ago, actually.”

I immediately shake my head. “No. Not happening.”

Rachel bares her teeth at me. “ _Yes_.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harlow asks Dad. Her face is pale, a horrified expression on her face. “Have you actually been brainwashed by _her_?” She points a finger at her mom.

Rachel gasps, exclaiming, “Harlow Pace!”

“You know she’s been manipulating you, right?” Harlow continues. “She does it to everyone—emotional fuckery is her specialty.”

Dad presses his lips together. “Harlow, you are being extremely disrespectful to your mother right now.”

“I don’t care!” Harlow stands, hands balled into fists. “Don’t try to play up the whole _dad_ act with me. I already had a dad, thanks. And I know what an _impeccable_ father you’ve been, so butt out.” I almost applaud her for having the balls to bring that little tidbit up. I’ve been struggling to let Dad know how useless he is for years…

“Harlow!” Rachel screeches, also standing. “How dare you talk to your new father like that—”

“My _new_ father?!” Harlow’s chest heaves with hysterical laughter. “You have got to be kidding me. That asshole will _never_ be my father.” She steps closer to her mom, leaning in and lowering her voice pointedly. “And you will _never_ be their mother,” she adds, indicating me and Mike.

I stand when Dad does, not wanting to give away an advantage. “Let’s all settle down now,” Dad says, voice slightly shaken.

“As if you can speak.” I scoff. Dad looks at me with an outraged expression. “Harlow’s right—you’re a shitty father.” Might as well join the bandwagon.

His head jerks back as if I slapped him. I wish I had metaphorically punched him instead. “Beckett Harper! You will speak to me with respect, or not at all!”

“You fucking left me and Mike alone for _years_! And yet you still think you deserve respect?” I shake my head, a cruel smirk spreading over my face. “I’ve never seen a more useless set of parents.” I motion between him and Rachel.

“You’ll regret marrying her,” Harlow declares. Dad, jaw tight, looks back at her. Harlow’s expression is full of scorn as she says, “She’s probably already cheating on you.”

“How dare you accuse me of that, you little bitch?!” Rachel closes the distance between her and Harlow, raising her hand as if to slap her.

I quickly step in front of Harlow, grabbing Rachel’s wrist and squeezing. “Back the fuck up. You’re not going to lay your hands on your daughter.” The statement reminds me of something H told me a long time ago, about her mom slapping her. Similar shit will not happen here. Not on my watch.

Rachel whimpers pathetically, cowering back from me. “Bryant…”

Dad steps forward, ripping my hand off her wrist. He gets right in my face. I feel smug as I realize, for the first time, that I’m a few inches taller than him. “You’re way out of line!” he shouts in my face.

Spittle lands on my cheek, but I swallow my disgust. “You saw that bitch! She was going to hit Harlow.”

Behind me, I can feel Harlow take a fistful of my shirt, right under my shoulder blades. She presses close, leaning around me to speak to Dad. “I’m not sure how long you’ve been with her, but I’ve been around her for much longer. I _know_ how she is with men. She’s never only been with one man since my goddamn dad died!”

Dad scowls. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harlow—”

“Has she told you she used to cheat on my dad too?” Harlow demands, leaning into me to see Dad better. I blink in surprise as she continues. “She used to sext this guy all the time through email!” She settles her glare on Rachel. “Isn’t that right?”

Rachel stammers, “You have no idea what it was like—”

“To what? To be in a healthy relationship with a man you loved?!” Harlow laughs cruelly. “That’s right, I forgot—you never fucking loved Dad.”

“Of course I did!” Rachel screams, trying to lunge past Dad’s arms at her daughter. “He was just difficult to be with—”

“And all those _business conferences_?” Harlow scoffs. “You were probably fucking someone every time you left!”

I notice that all of the blood leaves Dad’s face. He twists to look at Rachel behind him, who has gone silent. Putting two and two together, I chuckle in disbelief. “No fucking way.” I shake my head at him, remembering all the times I’ve seen Rachel at Dad’s office or at dinner parties over the years. I just thought they were work associates or something, but now… “You were sleeping with a married woman?”

“It’s not like that, Beck!” Dad says defensively. His eyes, light grey and so unlike mine and Mike’s, are wide. “I didn’t know at first!” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is an admission of guilt, if I’ve ever heard one.

“Wait—you were sleeping with _Bryant_ while Dad was still alive?” Harlow moves out from behind me, a horrible look of realization on her face. I almost pity her. “Is that what you were doing while he was dying?!” she screams. “You were fucking someone behind his back while he laid in a hospital bed and suffocated on his own blood?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Rachel sobs.

“Then what?!” Harlow continues screaming. “Did you just magically fly to Colorado for a month after he got his jaw amputated?! Let me guess, you just slipped and Bryant caught you with his dick! How heroic!”

“Honey,” Rachel starts.

Harlow continues, “Dad _always_ asked about you!” She hiccups, wiping her cheeks. It’s hard to watch her cry. “And you were content with betraying him while he died. You couldn’t even stop fucking around to be with him when he died! I had to watch him died by myself! How could you, you slut?!”

Grinding my teeth together at her words, I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to my chest. I glare at Dad. “You’re a fucking piece of work.”

He sighs, staring at Harlow with regret plain on his lying, cheating face. “I never intended to…” He gestures helplessly.

Rachel’s still crying behind Dad, gripping his shoulder tightly and playing up the victim act. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?” she wails. “I just got engaged and you’re ruining it!”

“Cry to someone who actually gives a fuck, you cunt,” I hiss. Harlow is sobbing so violently that she’s hyperventilating. I press my lips together and make a command decision. “We’re leaving,” I mutter to Harlow, guiding her out of the living room and down the hall to the front door.

Dad doesn’t make any attempt to follow us. I hear him talking to Rachel as I bend to slide my shoes on, pushing Harlow’s runners at her. She sniffles and puts her shoes on obediently, looking miserable. Her head is down, obscuring her face with her short hair. When we get out the front door, Harlow stumbles on the last porch step and almost lands on her ass. I sigh and put one hand behind her back, another behind her legs, lifting her into my arms. She makes a sound of protest, but can’t seem to quit crying enough to really speak. I head down the long driveway with her in my arms, thinking that she’s really too light and I’ll have to make sure she eats more from now on.

We can’t take the SUV because Mike took it earlier to drop off the guys, but Jax lives a few houses down the road. I can walk there easily, even while carrying Harlow. He’ll let us hide out there until Dad comes to his senses. And if he doesn’t come to his senses soon, I’m going to have to do something about it that no one will be happy about.

***********

On Monday morning, Mike knocks on my bedroom door thirty minutes earlier than I normally wake up. I’m completely ready for school, having gotten up and dressed early so that we can leave before Mom and Bryant wake up for work; Beck told me to be ready early last night, and for once I’m listening. The guys and I have been avoiding the parents all weekend; Beck and I hid out at Jax’s house for a while on Saturday after Mom’s “big announcement,” and after telling Mike the news, we’ve come to an unspoken agreement of shunning Mom and Bryant. It’s still mostly dark outside as Mike pulls the SUV out of the garage, Beck seated happily in the passenger’s seat for the first time since I met him.

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t drive,” Mike grumbles around a yawn. He got his hair cut yesterday, saying that his _fire_ style would distract everyone from my hair. I doubt it will work, but it’s nice of him to try. He got an undercut and left the top a little longer, brushing the black locks forward so that they fall over his left eyebrow and into his eye a little. I told him all he needed was a lip-ring and a Pierce the Veil obsession, and he would be emo enough to appeal to a new genre of women. He strangely didn’t find that joke funny. Must be because he’s feeling guilty about being caught cheating on his girlfriend—as he goddamn should.

Beck hums, scrolling through his phone. “You need to get used to driving more. I can’t be your chauffeur forever, you know.”

“You would be _my_ chauffeur forever, though, right?” I ask from the very back seat.

Beck huffs a laugh. “In your dreams, Harold.”

“Hey!”

As usual, we pick Jax up first. He clambers into the SUV, chucking his backpack into the third row of seats next to me, oddly. I frown as he clumsily climbs over the second row of seats, landing heavily next to me. “Morning!” He grins, buckling in.

“You could’ve just lowered the seats,” I mumble. “And I would’ve sat up there if I knew you wanted to sit back here.”

“But I want to sit next to you, bestie!” He opens his arms, leaning in with puckered lips.

I push his face away with a tired laugh. “You’re insane.”

Jax spreads his knees wider than necessarily, throwing an arm over the back of our seats. He sighs, looking around as if in wonder. “It’s like a different world back here.” He digs his phone out of his pants pocket, chucking it in my lap. “Put your number in.”

I grimace as I pick it up, judging him immensely for the cracks in the screen. This phone must cost like $1,000 or something. It’s just sad. “Why? I don’t need you sending me weird porn links at three o’clock in the morning, Jackson.” He and Kieran have already terrorized me by watching porn on the tv in the basement of Bryant’s house. It’s just wrong.

“I would _never_.” He gasps, hand over his heart.

“If you even try it, I’ll castrate you,” Beck calls from the front. My lip twitches. He’s gotten a little protective since Saturday—no, not protective. Just more…. _Beck_. He’s started treating me more like he treats the guys—although, he does still make a point of being an ass most of the time.

“I want you to have my number—you know,” Jax lowers his voice, “in case the Harpies try anything today.”

I swallow and nod. “Fine.” I enter my number and hand his phone back, unsure how he even uses it with all the cracks on the screen. “You don’t need to worry about me, though. I’ll be fine.” My phone buzzes with a text and I save Jax’s number.

Jax scoffs disbelievingly. “Right. Like you were _fine_ on Friday? Sorry, but your hair was scary enough to make a grown man weep. _Weep_ , Harlow.”

“It was kind of bad,” Mike agrees from the front. “Your hair looks nice now, though.”

I grumble as the car slows to a bumpy stop in front of Kieran’s townhouse. He lazily saunters out to the car, absent of a shirt entirely. It’s become a morning routine for me at this point—how undressed is Kieran? Most days he’s at least got his arms through a shirt, but last week he walked out without his pants zipped or buttoned, belt undone and tossed over his shoulder. And I’m just saying, but I’m pretty sure the guy doesn’t wear underwear—either that, or the blond thatch of hair I spotted before shrieking and averting my eyes was just very well trimmed…

Kieran’s brow lowers as he squints at Mike in the driver’s seat, buckling into the backseat and holding his unadorned shirt in his lap. “Why are you driving, Michaela? Finally grow a pair?”

“Hey! I just don’t like to drive, okay?” Mike defends himself, pulling onto the street again. “And driving isn’t exactly a masculine thing—lots of women drive. Right, Harlow?”

I shrug, sheepishly sinking into my seat. “I’m sure they do… I don’t even have my license, though, so I’m not a prime example,” I say, the last part under my breath.

“We need to remedy that.” Jax moves his hand behind my head on the back of the seat and tugs on my short hair. “You need to be an independent woman.” As if I need to be told that!

Driving under the overpass and into the slummy part of Vail is always an experience. There aren’t that many homeless people in Vail, I’ve noticed, but there seem to only be two socioeconomic classes: the impoverished and the filthy rich. I have yet to see a single middle-class housing section in this entire town. I guess that’s Colorado for you (from my observations, anyway).

I’ve never asked Adrian about his situation, but from what I’ve gathered, he earned some sort of academic/sports scholarship at Laurier Academy that pays for full tuition and meals, just not housing. He lives with his dad—information I gathered from eavesdropping on a conversation he had with Beck during Calculus—and his home life seems complicated. I don’t know what his dad does for a living, mainly because I’ve never even seen the man with my own eyes. In fact, as far as the guys’ parents go, I’ve only ever seen Jax’s mom a few times: once on Friday when she brought me and Beck drinks while we were hiding out, and a couple times when we picked Jax up for school. Jax must get into a lot of shit for his mom to scream at him before it gets fully light outside.

Mike parks in front of Adrian’s trailer and we all watch the door, waiting for his brown hair and pristine uniform to appear. Of all of us, Adrian somehow always manages to look completely put together; even my backpack already has scuffs on it, whereas he’s had his for almost four years and it looks brand new.

“What’s he doing?” Beck asks idly, frowning at the trailer after ten minutes pass and Adrian never appears.

Mike curses softly. “You don’t think Rick’s being an ass again, do you?” My brow furrows as Beck scowls. I’m obviously missing something.

“He better fucking not be,” Beck hisses, staring out his window with growing tension. After a few more minutes, he says, “Fuck. I’m going to go check on him.”

Mike hesitantly stops him. “He won’t want us to go in there, Beck—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Beck opens his door, jumping out of the car. We all watch in silence as Beck storms over to the door of the trailer, banging harshly on the plastic and aluminum exterior. “Adrian!” we hear him call. “Open up! It’s time to go!”

“Jesus Christ,” Jax mumbles absently, eyes serious and trained on the trailer.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him quietly.

He starts, looking back at me. He offers me a tense smile that barely graces his lips. “Hopefully nothing…” He turns back to look at the trailer.

Beck waits a minute before impatiently pounding on the door again. “Adrian!” The door suddenly swings open right as he finishes knocking, forcing Beck to quickly step back to avoid being hit by the door. Beck starts to speak, before his expression gets tense and dark. The door blocks my view from the car of whatever he’s looking at, but it causes him to spit, “What the fuck?!” Beck steps back another step as Adrian descends the steps of the trailer slowly, head ducked down. He’s dressed in his uniform, leather backpack clutched tightly in his hands. He never lifts his head as he passes Beck, limping across the sparse grass path to the SUV. Beck stares after him, face pale and pissed off, before he slams the door of the trailer shut and follows Adrian. I lean a little over Jax as Adrian nears the car, trying to see what’s wrong.

When Adrian opens the door to the backseat, I see what’s wrong immediately. Although he keeps his head down and his brown bangs obscure the top half of his face, the dark bruises and small cuts lining his jaw and neck are very visible. I gasp and lean back in my seat as Kieran asks, alarmed, “What the hell happened, man? Are you okay?”

Beck hovers behind Adrian as he hefts himself into the backseat, wincing with every movement. Adrian says something to Beck that’s too soft for me to hear, and then Beck shuts Adrian’s door and gets into the front seat. He twists back over the center console, though, staring at Adrian with a grim, incensed expression. I stare at the back of Adrian’s neck. Dark purple and black bruises peek out of the collar of his white uniform shirt, faded at the nape of his neck, and dotted red and green at the edges. The bruises wrap all the way around the front of his throat, I’m sure. I can’t see his face, as he keeps his head turned toward the window and ducked.

“Adrian,” Beck says, leaning on the console, voice gentle but shaky. He is enraged, I realize. Completely murderous and barely able to speak through his anger. “What did he do?”

Adrian clears his throat. I watch his fingers tug at the strap of his backpack. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It fucking does!” Mike yells, seatbelt unbuckled. He’s also twisted around to see Adrian. He looks horrified, brushing hair out of his eyes furiously. “Look at your fucking face.” Mike’s voice breaks on the last word.

“I’ll go kill him right now,” Beck promises. “Just say the word, and I’ll break his neck. I’m sure Dad could cover that shit up.” I have no doubt that Beck is serious.

Adrian laughs brokenly, this stuttered sound that sounds more like a sob than anything else. “Don’t bother. He’s not worth it.” He sniffs, lifting his head a little. I bite down on my tongue to keep from commenting as I take in the one side of his face I can see. I don’t think anything I have to say right now would help.

Adrian’s temple is bruised, the black and red mark spreading all the way down his cheek and to his jaw. He has a vertical cut on the side of his lower lip. A scrape runs over the bridge of his straight nose, partially hidden by his hair. Between the gaps of his bangs, his blue eyes look tired and damp as he makes eye-contact with Mike.

“Do I need to take you to the hospital?” Mike asks, tone quiet. He looks like he could cry. I would join him.

Adrian makes a negative noise. “I’m okay. Just bruises and bumps.”

Beck swallows thickly a few times. He turns to look at his brother, then back at Adrian. He tells Mike, “I’m driving. Switch with me.” He gets out of the SUV, rounding to the driver’s side as Mike scoots over the center console and into the passenger’s seat. Once Beck is buckled in and has started the car, he says, “Don’t defend him anymore, Adrian. He doesn’t deserve it.” After a moment of silence as he drives out of the trailer park, Beck continues, “He doesn’t deserve your protection, and he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve _you_.”

I don’t know who _he_ is—I’m assuming Adrian’s dad or something—but I wholeheartedly agree with Beck. Adrian doesn’t deserve to be hurt. By anyone.

***********

Once we get to school, Mike hovers over Adrian, carrying his backpack and wrapping an arm gently around his shoulders to help him walk. Whatever happened, I just hope Adrian doesn’t have broken bones. I caught a whisper about bruised ribs, and maybe a sprained ankle. I sincerely hope that’s all. I think it’s sweet that Mike cares so much about his friends, though—that any one of these boys would drop everything and take care of each other if need be.

Beck heads off toward the football field with a comment about letting Coach Schmidt know Adrian can’t practice this morning. Kieran and Jax follow him after telling me to stay in the library until class and to text if Anna shows up early; Kieran gave me his number too before he left, nodding his spiky blond head at me with a “don’t let her get to you.”

I spend a little over an hour listening to music in the back corner of the library, avoiding the homework that I forgot to do over the weekend. In my defense, a lot has happened since Friday. I haven’t really had the energy to deal with Calculus bullshit.

Jamie eventually finds me, and we talk for a little while. I try to convince her to start going to class, or to at least sit with me and the guys during lunch, but she’s perfectly content to ditch and continue hiding out in bathrooms, stairwells, and the roof. She does invite me to hang out at her dorm sometime, though, and I agree to go when I have time.

Jax and Kieran fetch me from the library a few minutes before homeroom starts and seem tense through our first class—English. Kieran escorts me to Calculus after History; he’s been somberly silent all morning, but we all have. I wave goodbye to him halfheartedly, which he returns, and then walk into Calculus. Mr. Pollock is sitting at his desk; he glances up at me and his eyes go wide as he takes in my hair.

“Ms. Pace… New haircut, I see. It suits your face shape.” He has the audacity to smile at me.

“Thanks…” I exhale slowly and try to smile back. I know I shouldn’t feel angry with him for letting Anna, Leslie, and Cara drag me out of the classroom on Friday. The man didn’t know any better—it’s not his fault, necessarily.

I glance around the classroom, noting that the Harpies aren’t here yet. Excellent. Beck is seated at his desk, a hand on Adrian’s back. Adrian has his arms folded across his desk, face buried. He breathes slowly as Beck gently presses on his vertebrae.

“Does that hurt?” Beck asks quietly. Adrian shakes his head, lifting it off of the desk.

I offer him a small smile as I drop my bag and slide into the seat next to Beck. “Hey.”

Adrian’s lip quirks, bruised eyes watching me warily. “Have an uneventful morning?” His voice is hoarse.

I sigh, pulling out my barely written-in notebook. “Thankfully. Not sure how much longer that’ll last, though.”

Beck narrows his eyes at my notebook. “I’ve never seen someone take so few notes in a math class before.”

I shrug. “I’m still not sure what we’re talking about.”

Adrian laughs a little, the sound hitched. He winces and rubs his ribs, saying, “You and me both, Harlow.”

“Am I seriously going to have to explain this to you again?” Beck asks him. He leans over Adrian’s desk, tapping his notebook teasingly. He seems to be forcing himself to not dwell on the skyscraper-sized elephant in the room: Adrian’s bruises. “I don’t usually tutor for free, you know.”

“But you do for me.” Adrian bats his eyelashes, seemingly relieved by Beck’s willingness to ignore the obvious.

I raise my hand, butting in, “Me too, hopefully?”

Beck slides his dark eyes to me, lip quirking. “We’ll see.”

Leslie and Anna walk into the classroom, skirts rolled up to show off their thighs, identical smirks on their faces. Cara walks in after them, shooting me a glower, a plaster over her nose. I blink in surprise at her swollen and bruised eyes. I must have broken her nose when I hit her with my backpack. I silently cheer for myself. At least I managed to injure _one_ of my attackers. 

Anna saunters to stand in front of my desk. Her lips spread, serpentine. “Harlot, nice to see you.” Nice nickname. Better than _Butch_ , though.

I hate the fact that I feel sick just looking at her. Some part of me is reliving the experience of being held down by Leslie and Cara while Anna chopped my hair off. It’s not a nice feeling. “What do you want?” I ask quietly. I know what she wants, though—what all bitchy teenage girls want: absolutely nothing but to torture others in the cruelest ways possible.

Anna tilts her head. “You got another haircut. I’m offended you didn’t like my work.” Her smile turns threatening. “I could always cut off more—if you don’t like the style that I gave you.”

Beck stands from his desk, towering over Anna with a murderous expression. “Get the fuck away from her. Don’t talk to her, don’t speak to her. If you ever lay a fucking _finger_ on her again, Anna, I’ll tell your dad about that _thing_ you did last year.”

Anna’s green eyes narrow. She hisses, “You wouldn’t dare, Beckett Harper.”

Beck leans down in her face. “Don’t fucking push me, bitch. I could ruin your life, right here, right now.”

Anna glares up at him for a long moment, before shooting me a poisonous look and turning on her heel. I only relax my tense posture once she’s seated next to Leslie at the front of the room.

Beck eases himself down into his seat, blowing out a long breath. “We have to do something about that bitch,” he mumbles. I think he’s talking to Adrian, but his dark gaze is fixated on me when he speaks. I slowly nod in agreement. She can’t keep thinking she can get away with everything. We need leverage.

***********

Beck and Adrian walk with me to lunch, these huge, silent presences by my side. Adrian is still limping, but I saw Beck pass him several pills during Calculus. I don’t want to know what kind they were, but he seems to be in less pain now. He’s even smiling more as we fill our trays.

I try to only take a few pieces of fruit, but Beck grumpily slides pasta and a side-salad onto my tray as well. When I try to protest, he cuts me off. “I had to carry you on Saturday. You weigh nothing. Eat more.”

“I never asked you to carry me, prick,” I grumble, following him and Adrian to our usual table.

The rest of the guys filter in, Jax starting an upbeat conversation to distract us from lingering on the darkness of this morning and the weekend. Halfway through a lewd joke about Bryant and my mom making babies together—in bad taste, but this is Jax we’re talking about—Beck tenses, eyes fixed on something over my shoulder. He slowly puts down his fork, a scowl creeping across his face. I twist in my seat, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. And oh boy, do I ever.

A few tables away, Matt Dahmer sits, surrounded by Leslie and Cara, that Eric Prescott guy who was such an asshole to me my first day, and Eric’s acne-ridden friend Colt Anson, who Beck so lovingly has dubbed Puss Face. A bunch of other people crowd the table as well, but it’s the girl sat on Matt’s lap who worries me the most.

Anna straddles Matt’s legs, lips locked with him, taloned hands running over his shaved head. Matt has his fingers buried in her dark hair. They look like they’re devouring each other. Even from across the cafeteria, I can see hints of their _tongues_.

I look back at Beck, taking note of his deep scowl and the fury practically emanating off of him. “What the hell is he doing?” I ask. I thought Matt was friends with the guys—hell, he typically sits with them at lunch every day!

What changed?

“That’s what I want to know,” Beck rumbles, a muscle in his jaw jumping. His dark eyes are almost black, a promise of lethal violence unconcealed.


	15. Traitorous Scum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a lighter chapter. I would like to address one thing: This story is completely stupid. Nothing serious will ever be achieved by this story (no awards being given for this amazing plot), but as it's fun to write, I'm going to finish it. I am in the process of slowly editing chapters (mistakes happen when you write 50k words in a week and a half, you know?) and I did just update a significant part of Chapter 9, so go ahead and check that out if you read that chapter prior to March 1, 2021. I have identified some major plot holes and do plan to fix them as the story progresses/as I find them. This story will likely never be as perfect as I want it to be, but creative writing is the antipathy to perfectionism, as I have discovered. Nonetheless, I hope at least a few people find enjoyment by reading my writing!!! One thing to keep in mind: Harlow and Beck are the most oblivious idiots in the universe. I made that a major aspect of their frustrating little personalities when designing their characters. Bear with me! ;) It'll make sense eventually.... I hope...
> 
> Enjoy~!

It’s the third week of September—two weeks until my eighteenth birthday—before I have the chance to go to Jamie’s dorm room. Life has gotten busy lately, what with the whole mess that being alive is and everything.

Mom and Bryant have been engaged for less than two weeks, and they’ve already started looking at venues. Mom has been scattering wedding magazines and catering menus around the living room like a hoarder. Bryant seems to be on cloud nine, completely ignoring his sons in favor of spending all his time with my mom. I would have no issues with them being happy, or in love or whatever, if it weren’t for the fact that a) Mom is totally using Bryant for his money, and b) there’s no way in _hell_ that I’m going to become Beck’s step-sister. Say what you will, but I don’t think I can handle the plausibility that we could be legally related in the near future.

The thought makes me nauseous. I don’t want to overanalyze that any more than I already have, though.

I haven’t heard much from B recently. He answers my texts, but we both have kind of gotten into a pattern of not talking about our lives. He vaguely tells me about football, I complain about calculus and my mom’s new tendency to wear booby shirts. Thinking back on it, I don’t think B has ever been very open about his family situation. I don’t want to bother him with my family drama right now; I think some miniscule part of me is hoping that we’ll still meet someday soon and that he’ll magically fall in love with me and take me away from everything. B will save me from Anna and her scissors, Matt’s new infatuation with Anna and her scissors, and my poor hair, which was traumatized by Anna and her fucking scissors.

B will let me ignore the fact that my mom is planning on marrying the father of two boys whom I’ve come to somewhat care about in a weird way. B will take me away from said boys and their friends and will let me never acknowledge the fact that I want to be part of their friend group—I know it’s never going to happen in the real world.

B will be this nerdy dude who likes video games and texting at three o’clock in the morning and who will never, _ever_ be mean to me like Beck is.

I know that romanticizing someone whom I’ve never met is ridiculous. I can’t help it, though. B is supposedly male, and he likes talking to me, for some reason. I’ll never have a chance with a guy like Beck, or Kieran, or even goddamn Jax. I’ll never be _that_ girl—the girl who goes to high school parties because she was invited, who gets to go on dates, who loses her virginity before she goes to college. I’ll never be the girl who gets to have a stupid fucking crush on a boy and have him like her back.

If I’m being honest, I’ll probably never be the girl who will ever get to meet B in real life either. We’ve drifted apart so much in the last few weeks—really since Mom and I moved—that he probably hates me. He probably talks to other girls all the time, maybe even on _Mutiny_. There’s no way that B will ever actually meet me, and even if he did, he would never want to _be_ with me.

And if that realization doesn’t make me want to fucking cry…

I’m lying in bed right now. It’s four o’clock on a Sunday morning, still dark outside. Downstairs in the basement, I know the guys are probably spread out over the couch and the floor, having stayed over last night. I know, somewhere on the third floor of the house, Mom is probably lying next to Bryant, both of them content with their disgusting parenting habits and their immature approach to everything.

It sucks to realize that I’m the only one who has no one else. I’m supposed to head over to Jamie’s dorm later this morning, so at least she can tolerate me. But I’m in a mood. Self-pity is my friend right now.

Why do the guys get each other? Who does Mom get Bryant and all her new friends from work? Why does even Anna get friends—gets to steal Matt as a new _friend_ —when I have to sit alone, in a guest bedroom in a house that isn’t mine, by myself?

It’s bullshit. And unfair.

I rub a hand over my eyes until I see stars. Frustrated isn’t the half of it. I’m sleep deprived too, because I can’t stop thinking about the fact that B hasn’t replied to my texts since Friday or the fact that Mom blatantly ignored me at dinner last night. Mike told me not to worry about it. I’m worrying.

I can’t stop thinking about school tomorrow and what that’s going to entail either.

Anna and Matt are dating now. They hold hands in the hallways, kiss each other way too much, and stare at me like they’re just waiting for a chance to rip my throat out. I have a feeling Matt was madder at me about the whole party thing than he let on. He shoulder-checked me in gym last Wednesday with a glare. Either he’s one hell of an actor and has been pretending to tolerate me for weeks now, or I did something to piss him off. If I did, I would like to be informed, because homegirl is lost.

The guys have been pretty good at keeping the Harpies away from me. Anna still makes stupid comments under her breath and stuffs trash in my locker, but I have come to realize that she is the least of my worries.

Now that Matt is involved—and apparently has a grudge against me—I’m almost scared to go to school. The one difference between female bullies and male bullies is that boys try to hurt you in completely different ways. Girls are great at psychological warfare, but boys take a more physical approach.

It’s not that I think Matt would try to kill me or anything—I seriously don’t think he’s that bad of a guy. It’s just that he’s friends with Eric Prescott and Colt Anson now, and those two guys have been less than subtle about wanting to ruin my life. They hate Beck—and therefore me—for some reason.

A lot of people do, I’ve come to realize.

I get out of bed and shower at around seven. Jamie told me to come over at eight so that we can watch movies all day, and I don’t want to be late. I still haven’t figure out how I’m going to get to her dorm, but a small part of me is hoping that Beck or Mike will drop me off. I don’t want to have to speak to Mom any more than I have to.

Adrian is in the kitchen when I come downstairs, sipping a mug of what looks like tea at the table. He grins. “Morning.” The bruises on his face and neck have healed mostly, the small cut on the corner of his lip the only lasting remnant of whatever happened to him.

From the intel I’ve gathered, Rick Mitchel is Adrian’s dad. Beck thinks he’s a “useless piece of shit,” but that doesn’t say much—this is Beck we’re talking about. He thinks everyone is useless. I haven’t outright asked—mainly because I fear it would embarrass Adrian or would make him mad that I’m being nosy—but I’m guessing that Rick isn’t the nicest parent.

For all of my mom’s faults, she’s never physically abused me to that extent. Sure, she’s slapped me here and there, and that’s not okay—but she’s never beaten the shit out of me to the point where I was limping. She’s never even left a bruise on me, actually.

I grab a banana and sit down across from Adrian. “You’re up early.”

Adrian shrugs. “Jax wouldn’t stop moaning in his sleep.”

I wince. “Gross.”

He laughs sleepily, brown hair mussed. His blue eyes are tired. “Why are you dressed so early?”

“I’m going to hang out with Jamie.” I bite my lip. “Do you think one of the guys would give me a ride to the dorms?”

Adrian nods. “Jax brought his car yesterday, and he has to take me home before eleven.” His lips spread into a smirk. “His mom is making him go to church.”

I blink. “I didn’t know he was religious.”

“He’s not.” Adrian snorts. “His mom caught him smoking weed with Kieran on Friday. She’s making him spend some time with _God._ ” He snickers.

I join him. “I can’t imagine him in church. He’d probably burst into flames or something.”

“Who would burst into flames?” Beck asks, voice husky with sleep. He squints, walking over to the coffee maker.

My eyes fly open wide and I whip my face away. Oh. My. God. He’s wearing those lovely grey sweatpants that crease so well near the… pockets. His dark hair is a mess around his head, eyes soft. I peek at him, cheeks flaming. He’s leaning against the counter, covering a yawn. The broad muscles of his back are exposed, the bumps of his vertebrae encased on either side with bulging muscle and tan skin. He shifts to the side a little, giving me a glimpse of his defined pectorals and his abdomen. How can an eighteen-year-old be so toned? How can I visibly see the ridges of his abdomen from all the way over here, the dips and divots of his hipbones? My mouth waters and I can’t speak. If I try to, I’ll embarrass myself.

Although, when my eyes meet Adrian’s and I take in his wicked, knowing grin, I realize that I already have.

Adrian saves me by saying, “Jax. He’s being religious today.”

Beck snorts. “Great. Linda’s going to let him terrorize old ladies again.” Linda is Jax’s mom.

They continue talking, but I’m focused with avoiding Adrian’s eyes and Beck’s…. body. I stare down at the table, debating running away. That’s an adult decision, right?

Beck sits down next to Adrian. They’re in the middle of a conversation about Jax’s social inefficiencies when I scoot back my chair and stand. The banana lies uneaten on the counter. I don’t care. I robotically spin toward the kitchen door, keeping my eyes trained downward. Left foot, now right foot.

“Where are you going?” Beck demands.

I stop and say, without facing him, “I have to go to Jamie’s dorm.”

“Why would you hang out with that chick?” he comments. “She’s weird.”

Without thinking, I turn, saying, “She is _not_ —” The words die in my mouth. Beck has nipples—of course he does. Right there on his chiseled chest, these little ovals of dusky skin. Why am I staring at his nipples again? What was the question?

Is it hot in here?

“Why is your face so red?” Beck asks. He frowns pushing his chair back and starting to stand.

Adrian, the traitor, snorts amusedly and puts a hand on Beck’s shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. “It’s just hot in here. Right, Harlow?” He wiggling his eyebrows.

I swallow, mouth dry. My head bobs in a nod and I focus on staring at Adrian. Not. Beck’s. Nipples. “I think I’m running a fever.”

Beck stands again, though, rounding the dining table. My eyes flicker to him, then to Adrian’s in horror. Adrian’s eyes are full of amusement, and pity. Like he’s watching a little kid fall on his face and has to pretend it’s not funny.

“Uh, Beck, she’s fine,” Adrian starts to say.

Beck is about two feet from me when my brain starts to function again, and I take a step back. “W-what are you doing?” I stutter, leaning away as he closes the distance between us. My back is almost touching the wall next to the door of the kitchen. Trapped.

Beck’s brow furrows as he looks down at me, concern plain on his face. He lifts a hand, pressing it to my forehead. Unable to meet his eyes while feeling the heat of his body so close to mine, I move my eyes down—and end up staring at his chest, his abdomen, that little trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.

Jesus Lord Mary Mother of Joseph.

Beck’s voice is low when he asks, “Are you sick?”

I cough, pressing back into the wall. His hand falls away from my heated skin. “I…” I look around Beck’s shoulder at Adrian. “ _Help_ me.” The plea comes out like a whimper, this pathetic, squeaky sound that I could actually just die from. I’d be quite happy with that right about now.

Adrian smothers a hysterical laugh, standing from his seat. He clears his throat. “Leave her alone, man. Come on.” He starts laughing again.

My secret is out. I glare at Adrian, silently murdering him with my eyes. If he tells Beck that—that I find him _attractive_ , I will slowly torture him to death. Or something extreme like that.

“What do you mean? Isn’t she sick?” Beck looks back at Adrian in confusion, thankfully moving away from me a little. I breathe a sigh of relief and scoot toward the door.

“Go, go, go!” Adrian meets my eyes, laughing through his words.

I slip past Beck and out of the kitchen, high-tailing it upstairs and slamming my bedroom door shut. I’ll just hide here and die, I think, pressing my hands against my burning cheeks, images of abdominal muscles and dark trails of hair and _waistbands_ floating around in my mind. I don’t need to be seen or heard from ever again.

***********

“But, Jamie!” I moan despairingly, burying my face in one of her pillows. “He totally knows now!”

“You said he looked confused, though,” she tries to argue, giggling again. “He could just think that you’re really weird.”

“He does! But that’s not the point—he would have to be the most oblivious idiot on the planet to not realize I find him attractive,” I mumble, flailing in embarrassment. “I think I’m going to move in with you here. Can I live in your closet until graduation? I can’t face him again…”

Jamie yanks the pillow away from me, causing my forehead to smack into the bed. She whacks me over the ass with the pillow. “You are absolutely welcome to, but it’s not that big of a deal! You were just blushing.”

“But Adrian knew _why_ , Jamie,” I cry. “He was _laughing_ at me. He wouldn’t stop teasing me in the car and Jax was so confused—have I really been that obvious?!”

“No.” Jamie chortles. “I thought you hated him until today, actually.”

I sit up. That makes me feel better. “My cold personality is on the line here.”

She sighs, leaning back against the headboard and folding her arms. “Trust me, that’s not going to be a problem.”

I wait a long minute, watching the movie on her laptop at the end of the bed. Since Jax dropped me off at her dorm at eight o’clock, we’ve gotten through three _Studio Ghibli_ films and a short stint of YouTube cat videos. It’s nearing two o’clock now.

“He’s so hot, though,” I whisper, covering my face in mortification.

“I told you!” Jamie exclaims, jumping up and bouncing on the bed. Her curly brown hair bounces around her head, almond shaped eyes squinted in happiness. “Beck Harper is the hottest guy at Laurier!”

“I hate him for it!” I groan dramatically, covering my face with another pillow. “Who gave him the right?!”

“You know,” Jamie starts, sitting back down next to me. “Since you can’t be with him—because your parents are getting married and you’ll soon be _siblings_ ,”—I gag—“maybe you could invite me over and _I_ could have a chance with him! Or _Adrian_.” She sighs dreamily, pressing a hand to her cheek.

I shove her shoulder. “That’s disgusting.”

“But it’s not!” she protests. “If I can get with Beck—or Adrian—I’ll totally tell you all the details!” She leans into me, dark brown eyes gleaming mischievously. “You know,” she lowers her voice, “how he… performs.” She waggles her brows when I shove her again.

“Nasty! And why would you want to date Beck? He’s a total asshat!”

“Who said anything about _dating_ him?” She cackles when a flush rises up my neck and into my cheeks. “Oh god, you’re too cute!” She squeals, pinching my cheek.

I push her away, lip twitching. “You’re mean.” I pout mockingly.

Jamie wraps her arms around me, cooing, “There, there.” After a minute of hugging me as I try to squirm away, she whispers, “How big do you think his dick is?”

I shriek and flail, falling off the bed as she laughs.

************

“You’re going to start attending your classes, right?” I ask Jamie, biting into a slice of pizza. It’s almost six o’clock in the evening now. We’ve managed to waste the entire day doing nothing. It’s been wonderful.

Adrian gave me his and Mike’s numbers before he and Jax dropped me off at the dorms. I texted Mike earlier and he promised to come pick me up at around seven. He said Beck was out doing something tonight with Bryant, so it would just be me, him, and Mom at the house later. When I talked to him earlier, he was hiding out at Jax’s house, because he didn’t want to be home alone with my mom. Understandable.

Jamie grumbles. “You sound like my mom.”

“But we have Chemistry together! And P.E.” My least favorite subject—besides Calculus.

She sighs. “Fine…. I’ll start going, but I make no promises for how long.”

I celebrate. “Yay! I hate sitting by myself in Chemistry.”

“You only use me for my social skills.” She pouts mockingly.

I nod seriously, playing along. “You’re right. I would never like having a friend or anything like that. People are gross.”

She grins and shoves my shoulder with a greasy hand. “You never told me how the football game went last Friday,” she changes the topic.

I sigh. “Anna showed up. My mom was there. Drama ensued.” I wave my hand. “The game itself was… interesting.”

She winks. “You liked the uniforms, didn’t you?”

“Correction: I _loved_ the uniforms.” I blow out a long breath. “I love football pants…”

Jamie snickers. “Athletic butts are the best butts.” She continues after taking a big bite of pizza, “Did you like the game, though? I heard our team won.”

“They did. I didn’t understand anything, though. I have no idea what position the guys even play, to be honest.” I shrug.

Jamie gasps in horror. “How could you go to a football game and not know their positions?”

“Not a priority right now, I guess?”

“No.” She stands, wiping her hands off. “Okay, I’ll educate you.” She pulls a notebook off her desk and doodles a bunch of X’s on it. “This is Beck—he’s the quarterback. Big deal. Adrian is the center—he’s the one who passes the ball to Beck. Mike and Jax both play tackle—self-explanatory, I’m sure. And Kieran is the running back.” She points at each X, as if I’m supposed to associate those symbols with anything significant.

I just nod anyway. “Okay… And Matt is on the team too?”

Jamie’s expression sours. “Traitorous scum.” I laugh in agreement. “He’s the cornerback—basically responsible for doing nothing important. Anymore.” She mutters something involving expletives. I’m sure Matt would be very offended, had he heard.

“Football isn’t that big of a deal to me,” I comment, taking another piece of pizza. “The game was interesting enough, but I’m having a hard time understanding the significance behind the sport.”

Jamie pats my shoulder pityingly. Her eyes are somber as she says, “You poor soul. So uneducated. It’s okay, honey. We’ll convert you in no time.”

I nudge her off of me and laugh.


	16. Without a Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for continuing to support this story! Thank you!!!
> 
> We are so close to actually establishing the romance aspect of the plot. And once we get there, I have a whole bunch plotted to disrupt shit with *evil laugh*
> 
> Enjoy (while you can) ~ !

**B:** _What are you up to?_

 **H:** _Fuck you._

 **B:** _Wow. Don’t want to talk right now???_

 **H:** _I’m mad at you, so NO **.**_

 **B:** _Why are you mad at me???_

 **H:** _BC you never answered my text on Friday and now you hate me :(_

 **B:** _LOL sorry. I’ve had a lot going on. I didn’t even see your text until just now…._

 **H:** _…. You’re forgiven. I’m avoiding my mom. She’s trying to make me pick out napkins with her. NAPKINS._

 **B:** _LMAO napkins for what?_

***********

I discreetly slide my phone under the table, checking to see if B has responded yet. She’s been kind of distant lately. I have a feeling something’s going on at home, but she hasn’t told me, and I haven’t asked. It’s not like I’ve been very open about _my_ situation either.

Dad clears his throat pointedly to my left, this disappointed sound I know he reserves for me and Mike. I look up, catching his glare. He makes a subtle motion for me to put my phone away before resuming his conversation with the people around our table. I roll my eyes and tuck the phone into my pocket, sitting back and trying not to roll my eyes.

This morning, after Jax, Adrian, and Harlow left, Dad announced that he and I were going to some banquet thing tonight for workers in the criminal justice system. He never asked me if I was available, or if I even wanted to go—nothing. I’m a little pissed that he didn’t make Mike go too, but apparently this banquet is only for employees and _one_ of their kids. For some reason, Dad chose me. It’s not a good feeling—more like being chosen for the _Hunger Games_ or something.

And so now I am wearing dress slacks and a grey button-down shirt. Dad tried to make me wear a suit, but like hell am I wearing a monkey suit to an event I don’t even want to be at. Not my style, anyway.

Mike texted me earlier to tell me that he and Harlow would be watching movies and would wait up for me until I got home. The thought of those two getting to ditch this pompous excursion makes my teeth ache with jealousy. I would rather be anywhere but here.

The banquet is to celebrate some new law enforcement bill that was recently passed. It’s being held at the local convention center, which is this massive hall on the first floor of a ski resort in town. Chandeliers hang low over several dozen tables draped in white cloths, mounted animals adorn the stone and wooden walls. I’m pretty sure the taxidermied moose behind Dad’s seat has been watching me since I sat down, but I can’t be sure.

Looking around, I can spot at least thirty or forty cops at other tables, all either local or having traveled from police departments in nearby towns. Correctional officers, lawyers, prosecutors, and even a few social workers dot the room, all eating expensive Italian food the tax-payers unknowingly funded. Judge Atkinson—Anna’s father—sits across from my dad, talking loudly as he stuffs his face. Next to him, sitting primly and innocently, is his reptilian daughter.

I glare at Anna’s bobbed head, daring her to make eye-contact with me. I don’t know what I’m going to do about her yet, but I do know one thing:

Matt Dahmer is dead to me. Any respect I held for the dude vanished the second he slept with the enemy. The fact that he thinks he can still fucking talk to me after associating with the bitch who terrorized Harlow is pathetic, and insane.

At school on Monday, I almost throttled him in the cafeteria. Not because of jealousy—no. Anna probably has teeth between her legs, judging by her personality.

No. Matt almost got his ass kicked on Monday because he’s a traitor little bitch. Adrian held me back in the cafeteria, but if I have anything to say about it, he’s not going to be on the football team for much longer. I don’t care what I have to do. I refuse to play with a man who associates with bullies.

And if that makes _me_ a bully, so what? What the hell do I have to lose anymore?

I feel like a goddamn failure for not protecting Harlow. Even though Anna’s actions were completely her own, Anna targeted Harlow because of me. To be fair, though, I would be insane to sleep with that bitch. I’ve seen some of the shit she doodles in her notebooks. Fucking _Mrs. Anna Harper_ and everything.

And while Anna isn’t butt-ugly—she’s relatively attractive, I guess—she’s the least appealing woman on earth, from my perspective. I know what she did last year—specifically, what she had _done_ after a certain incident with a Calculus teacher.

I know because she called me. Asked _me_ to take her to the appointment. Me—as if she doesn’t have friends who could do that. Anna has never been my friend, but I pitied her and understood that her dad—who has the same superiority complex as mine, but who is extremely conservative and religious—would fucking explode if he found out her little _mistake_.

As if a baby is a mistake.

And I have little doubt, as much of an asshole as this makes me sound, that Anna would have _never_ considered getting an abortion if the kid weren’t Mr. Pollock’s. If she had gotten knocked up by anyone else—me, for example—she would be content to milk that shit until the day she dies. She would hold that over my head, guilt trip me until I went insane, and then ten years later we would be stuck in a toxic marriage with a kid who has parents who hate each other. And Anna would win, because she would get all of the inheritance my mom left me.

I would never get to have a career. Anna would make sure of that.

She’s been trying to sleep with me since middle school. I’ve held out this long, and I’m not going to break. It’s not that hard, really. Recently, I’ve found an easy distraction in a spastic brunette who doesn’t wear matching socks.

“Beck,” Dad says to get my attention. He has his schmoozing smile plastered on. I’m surprised his nose isn’t brown yet—you know, from all that ass-kissing he’s done tonight. “Judge Atkinson just wished you luck for your game on Thursday.” He pats my back.

I grit my teeth, sliding my eyes to Judge Atkinson. His bald head is reflective in the low lighting of the chandelier, his large stomach squeezed up to the table as he stuffs his overpaid face. “You performed excellently at that first game, son,” he says, droopy cheeks jiggling.

Tensely, I say, “Thank you.” I’m not looking for drama tonight. I just want to get back home unscathed, maybe hide out downstairs for a few hours with Mikey—and Harlow, if she’s there.

 _If_ she’s there. I scoff at myself. Of _course_ she’ll be there. When isn’t Harlow butting in where she’s not supposed to nowadays? Although, I’m not as annoyed by her presence as I was when she first moved in…. Not going to analyze that.

“How are you kids getting along at school?” Judge Atkinson asks, looking between me and Anna.

My lip curls. I can’t help it. “We’d be better if she kept her paws off of my friends.” Anna’s green eyes narrow, her plastic smile fading.

Judge Atkinson laughs. “Oh, I see what’s going on. Mad that she chained down one of the boys, eh?” He waggles his bushy eyebrows at me teasingly.

I scowl. Be civil, be civil, be civil—“More like she’s a bully and Matt has shown his true colors.”

Dad nudges me and hisses, “Beckett.”

Judge Atkinson’s smile fades a little. “What do you mean?”

Anna interrupts, “He’s just jealous because he used to have a crush on me.” She looks like she truly believes her own words, looking at me with hope in her eyes and all that.

As if, bitch. I chuckle darkly, leaning an elbow on the pristine white tablecloth. “Don’t lie, Annabel,” I say softly, staring directly into her eyes. “You and I both know I would _never_ get in that trap between your legs.”

“Now, hold on a minute, son,” Judge Atkinson says, sitting straighter. His bushy brows furrow in offense. “What did you just say to my daughter?”

“Nothing, Judge Atkinson,” my dad interrupts, shaking his head desperately. He reaches underneath the table to pinch my leg. “Beckett just has a dark sense of humor.”

I flinch away from the sting in my leg and scoot my chair back. I glare at Anna. “Either you tell him, or I will.”

Eyes wide, she hisses, “Shut the fuck up, Beck!”

My laugh is completely void of amusement. “You fucked with Harlow. Then with my friends.” I sneer. “You didn’t honestly think I would just _allow_ that, did you?”

“Beck—” Anna starts to stand, teeth bared. “If you think bringing this up will help _anything_ , you’re sorely mistaken. I will ruin Harlow at school if you don’t shut up _right now_!” Her voice rises to a scream at the end.

I wait a beat, blinking at her, at the banquet hall around us. All of the tables have gone silent, almost a hundred cops and attorneys staring at us. Some of the cops start to rise from their seats, probably thinking they have any jurisdiction over this conversation. Right.

A slow, deadly smile curls my lips as I meet Anna’s eyes again. I turn to Judge Atkinson. “Sir,” I say, speaking through Anna’s attempted interruptions. “Last August, during junior year, your daughter called me at three o’clock in the morning with the news that she was pregnant.”

Judge Atkinson blinks in confusion. “What do you—”

I continue, “She asked me to drive her to the Planned Parenthood in Lakewood. I felt bad for her, so I drove her.” My eyes meet Anna’s, where she sits gaping at me. She thought I wouldn’t do it? Naïve. “Missed school and everything.”

“Beckett, what the hell are you talking about?” Dad demands, standing. Looking at him, I know that he’s not actually concerned about my words. He’s just concerned about the fact that _everyone_ is staring at us in this silent room, that Judge Atkinson—a work colleague—is being told this information.

I laugh—I can’t help it. “And you know what the funniest part of the story is? She was fucking Mr. Pollock—our goddamn Calculus teacher.”

The room breaks out into murmurs. Judge Atkinson’s face is red with rage. He’s staring at his daughter murderously, a vein throbbing in his temple.

Anna sits back down in her seat, staring at me in horror. Her face is pale as she whispers, “What did you just do?”

I smirk maliciously. “He needed to know.” I then meet Judge Atkinson’s eyes, frowning in mock-concern. “I don’t want Anna to be in trouble, sir. I think women have a right to do what they want with their bodies….” I sigh. “It’s just that Anna’s done this so may times. How many was it?” I ask rhetorically. “Was that the third or the fourth abortion, Anna?”

Judge Atkinson sputters. Anna screeches, shaking her head, hair flying out of it’s perfect bob. “You asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

I sigh and shake my head, walking around the table. I bend low next to Anna’s shoulder, murmuring, “You pushed me, sweetheart. Leave Harlow and my friends alone, or I’ll destroy your life.” Glancing pointedly at her father, my lip twitches into a smirk. “Or what’s left of it, anyway.”

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I exit the banquet hall, followed by rising murmurs and Anna’s screaming voice. “Beckett Harper! Harlow is fucking dead, you hear me?! You son of a bitch!”

My lips turn down grimly, but I feel triumphant as I head out to wait by Dad’s Porsche. Bring it on.

************

When Bryant and Beck get back to the house, Bryant’s raised voice can be heard over the tv in the basement. Mike and I share a look and creep upstairs, following the noise into the front foyer by the staircase.

“You completely humiliated me tonight, Beckett!” Bryant yells, hand fisted in the collar of Beck’s dress shirt. He’s dressed nicely—they both are. Beck’s neck is stiff, glaring down his nose at his father. He’s only got a few inches on Bryant, but right now it shows.

“Whoa!” Mike says, hurrying over to put a hand between his father and brother. “What’s going on?”

Bryant shoves Mike out of the way, ignoring him. He leans close to Beck’s face, spitting, “If I lose clients because of this little stunt you pulled, your inheritance is gone.”

Beck merely blinks, face expressionless. “Even you know that’s not how _that_ works. Whatever, though.”

“I’m done with you, Beckett!” Bryant grits his teeth and grabs Beck’s jaw with harsh fingers. He shakes Beck’s head a little. “When will you learn that your words have consequences? Huh?!”

Beck rips out of Bryant’s grip. He has red, finger-shaped marks on his jaw and neck. He glares hatefully. “She’s been terrorizing Harlow at school!”

I curl in on myself and stay tucked mostly in the hallway by the staircase. What did he do? Dread pits my stomach.

“I don’t give a damn about what she did!” Bryant yells back. “You exposed the fact that she got an abortion—multiple abortions—to her father! In front of everyone!”

Wait—what?

“And I would do it again!” Beck roars. His dark hair is a mess around his head, eyes wild and furious, stubborn, as he stares at Bryant.

The sharp sound of a palm hitting flesh echoes throughout the foyer. I gasp as Beck’s head snaps to the side.

Mike intervenes, standing in front of his older brother and shoving Bryant back. “What the fuck, Dad?!”

From the top of the staircase, Mom appears in a bathrobe. “What’s going on down here?”

I’m frozen, horrified. I can’t move my eyes away from Beck, who still has his face turned to the side and is staring at the floor. From where I’m standing, I can’t see his eyes.

A few drops of blood drip to the floor, their impact dull but as loud as a gunshot on the marble tile. Beck raises his head, hair over his eyes, blood dripping from his nose and down his chin.

“Jesus Christ,” Bryant mutters, wiping a hand over his face. He stares at Beck with regret in his expression. He takes a step forward, saying, “Oh god—I didn’t mean to—”

Mike stops him firmly. “Stay back.” He shoves Bryant’s chest, forcing him away from Beck.

Bryant swallows thickly, staring between his sons. “Beck—I was just angry—”

From behind Mike, Beck’s chest heaves. “If you _ever_ lay a hand on me again, I’ll fucking kill you.” He then turns and rounds the staircase, toward where I’m standing. His eyes meet mine, dark pools of anger, hurt, and—worst of all—embarrassment. He tears his gaze away and stomps up the stairs, blood dripping down his lips and spattering the carpet. He shoves past Mom at the top of the stairs and disappears.

***********

The Monday morning of the last week of September is an event. Beck broods silently all the way to school, cheek swollen and nose bruised. Bryant slaps much harder than my mom. Mike makes a group chat including everyone except for Beck. We’re supposed to be using it to get to the bottom of Beck’s mood—he won’t tell us anything about what happened last night at the banquet—but Jax and Kieran have sent so many porn GIFs, I’m not sure I want to be a part of the group chat anymore.

 **Jax** : _mybe if we du smthng abt hs mood, we cn strt tlkng abt smthng mr intrstng_

“Sorry, but I have no fucking clue what that means,” I mutter, nudging Jax next to me in the backseat of the SUV. “And why are you texting when we’re all in the same car?”

“Sh!” Jax places a hand over my mouth. “We’re doing super-secret things! You know,” he nods his head obnoxiously toward where Beck sits up front, “for you know who?”

I slap his hand away. “Why do your fingers smell like peanut butter?”

“I know you guys are texting about me,” Beck comments dryly from the driver’s seat. “Just fucking ask, if you must.”

Adrian clears his throat. “What did you say last night? And why did Bryant hit you?” He looks extremely bothered by that prospect. The realization that Adrian has more experience with physical violence than anyone here makes me nauseous.

Beck blows out a breath. “I told Judge Atkinson that Anna got an abortion last year. In front of—eh—a hundred government employees? And their kids…”

“Dude,” Kieran says disapprovingly. His blond hair is extra spiky today. “She’s a bitch, but that was a dick move.”

“I don’t care,” Beck says grimly. “She deserved it. Cutting off Harlow’s hair, corrupting Matt—”

“I’m pretty sure Matt Dahmer has always been an asshole,” Jax butts in. “Never liked his face. Or his chest pubes.”

“You can’t honestly think that revealing she got an abortion was justified, Beck,” I say, frowning. “She shouldn’t have cut off my hair, but an abortion is much more private—”

“And what?” Beck interrupts with attitude. “I’m just supposed to sit back and let her torment you? And my friends?”

“I never said that!” I protest. “It’s just that her getting an abortion was _not_ your secret to tell!”

“She’s the one who involved me!” He inhales deeply. “Besides, it shouldn’t bother you anyway. What—are you against abortions or something?” He scoffs meanly.

I scowl, crossing my arms. “Of course not. I mean, I would never get one, but—”

“Why not?” Jax asks. “Aren’t all you women obsessed with being able to get as many abortions as you want? Equal rights and all that?”

I stare at him with a frown. “Um…. No? That’s not what equal rights are—I mean, I don’t have a problem with _other_ people getting abortions, but—”

“Then why wouldn’t you get one?” Jax demands, crossing his arms defiantly.

I blink at him in shock, opening and closing my mouth. Why are we talking about this? Why does it matter? What I do with my uterus is none of Jackson Reid’s business, Jesus Christ! And how would I even answer this question? “ _Because you have to have sex to get pregnant, and be pregnant to get an abortion? Virgin over here!”_

Uh…. No thanks.

“Changing the topic to something that _doesn’t_ involve Harlow’s reproductive system,” Adrian coughs out, red around the ears. “Didn’t you kind of start a war last night, Beck? Do you think Anna will retaliate?”

“She will. Without a doubt.” His grim reply makes me dread going to school today. And for the foreseeable future.

************

“You bitch!” Anna hisses, grabbing a fitful of my short hair and yanking my head back. I gasp and drop my backpack onto the desk I was about to sit in.

Beck jumps out of his seat, rounding my desk and forcing Anna away from me. “Let her go!”

“How dare you?” Anna raises her voice, palm aimed at Beck’s face. He catches her wrist in his hand and squeezes, towering over her.

I stumble away from them, rubbing my sore scalp. My eyes flicker to the front of the Calculus classroom. Mr. Pollock is strangely absent. No teacher is present right now. “What’s your problem?” I demand Anna, although I already know what her problem is.

Beck ruined her life last night. This morning before homeroom, I saw Anna tearfully breaking up with Matt in the hallway. From what I overheard, her dad is forcing her to break up with him and to stop dating completely until she graduates. He’s not happy about the abortion news, I’m guessing.

Matt looked heartbroken, staring at Anna as if she were his entire world. He told her that he understood, but I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation because Jax and Kieran dragged me into homeroom. I feel bad for Matt, though. It’s not his fault Anna got an abortion, or that Beck has no tact at all when delivering horrible truths to peoples’ fathers.

“If you think your little stunt fixed anything, you have another thing coming, Beckett Harper!” Anna screams, getting in Beck’s face.

He scowls, shoving her arm back toward her. “You—”

“What in the world is going on in here?” Principal Edwards demands, heels clicking as she storms into the room with a plump woman in tow.

Beck swallows, shaking his head. He slides back into his seat, slouching and crossing his arms. After Anna hurries to her own seat, I sit down too, taking my notebook out of my bag.

Satisfied that everyone is seated, Principal Edwards has a small conversation with the middle-aged woman next to her. Then, turning to the class, Principal Edwards says, “This is Mrs. Joyce. She will be our new Calculus instructor for the rest of the year.”

As people around me politely clap and welcome Mrs. Joyce, I turn to Beck and whisper, “Where’s Mr. Pollock?”

Beck clenches his jaw and stays silent, but Adrian leans around him and answers me, blue eyes somber. “Pollock’s the one who knocked up Anna. He’s probably in jail right now. Anna’s dad is a judge, so…”

I gape at him and have a hard time focusing for the rest of class. That explains why Mr. Pollock let Anna and her Harpies drag me out of the room the day they cut all my hair off. He was totally smitten by a minor. Nasty.


	17. Are We That Stupid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I was cackling while writing this. ;D
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

It snows on October 2nd, the day before my eighteenth birthday. I’m shocked when Beck backs the SUV out of the garage and flurries of snow dot the windshield. There’s already a light dusting of slushy snow on the ground. The sky is overcast, clouds grey and heavy over Vail as the sun starts to rise.

“Why is it snowing already?” I ask Mike, leaning over the center console. I’m tired of being booted to the backseat, so I’m stubbornly staying in the second row today.

Mike makes a surprised noise. “I forgot you’re not from here. It typically snows this early. We’re lucky we didn’t get snow in September like last year.”

“It almost ruined football season,” Beck comments. He has his uniform jacket discarded in the back of the SUV, his white uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows as he drives. His tie has yet to be put on, but I’m impressed he’s even wearing his uniform somewhat this morning. Typically, Beck and Mike wear sweats to football practice early in the mornings.

Thinking about it, Mike is wearing sweats still. I wonder why Beck is dressed differently. I ask, “Are you not practicing this morning?”

Beck frowns and quickly looks back at me before refocusing on the road. “I am. I just need to meet with the Student Council President first. Homecoming is on Friday.”

“He’s schmoozing up to Kaiden so that the football team can sneak in alcohol again,” Mike whispers loudly, grinning.

“Why do you need to sneak alcohol in?” I frown disapprovingly, reaching up and yanking on a piece of Mike’s long fringe. He’s kept up on trimming his undercut. It looks nice.

Mike bats my hand away. “School dances are boring as shit. It’s the only way we can spice things up.”

“I mean, we could bring hookers like Jax suggested, but that wouldn’t be very classy.” Beck laughs and Mike joins in. I discreetly ogle Beck’s profile, sitting back in my seat. The bruise from Bryant’s hand has mostly faded from Beck’s jaw. Only the slightest hint of green and yellow can be seen, but his tan skin conceals it. Mostly.

“You said Kaiden? You mean Kaiden White?” I think Matt mentioned his name before we went to that party—wasn’t the party at the White Mansion or something?

“Yeah, Kaiden’s the Student Council President.” Mike mutters, “Rich son of a bitch.”

I bark out a laugh. “Coming from you!”

“He drives a _Model X_ , Harlow! He’s loaded!” Mike smacks the window with a low whistle.

I change the topic. “I don’t remember ever hearing about a homecoming dance. Don’t schools usually advertise them for like a month in advance?” I pluck at my backpack, trying not to pout. It’s not that I’m super psyched about a dance or anything, but it sucks that I probably won’t get to go now. I won’t have anyone to go with, or an outfit. What do rich kids wear to homecoming? Do they go full formal, or is it like a cocktail event?

Do I even own a dress? I can’t remember the last time I wore one. Certainly not since I started high school—I never went to any school dances at my old school.

“Homecoming is an unspoken event at Laurier. People just _know_ —typically because the dance is always held right after football season starts.” Mike tosses a granola bar back at me.

I catch it and frown at the wrapper. “If it’s that big of a deal, I don’t think I’ll go. Don’t want to upset anyone—”

“You’re going,” Beck states factually. He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, his gaze dark and stern. “You don’t get to ditch and be emo. It’s your senior year. Live a little.”

I scowl. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. And maybe I don’t want to go anyway—ever think of that?”

The SUV stops next to Jax’s house and he sprints down the driveway, opening the car door and shoving me over. He grins, brushing snow out of his orange hair, nose bright red beneath his freckles.

“Morning!” Jax shivers. “Jesus, my balls are going to freeze off.”

I scoot to the other side of the car. “TMI.”

“Buckle your seatbelt,” Beck orders Jax. He then continues speaking as if our conversation were never interrupted, “You’re going to homecoming, Harlow. If we have to go, so do you.”

My eyes narrow. I kick the back of Beck’s seat. “You’re not my dad. You don’t get to order me around. You may act like a parent to your friends, but I’m not your friend and you don’t get to tell me what to do, _Beckett_.”

“Ooh!” Jax smirks, leaning over to ruffle my hair. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the orgy this morning. Feisty.”

I slap his hand away with a glare. “Leave me alone.”

“Just come to homecoming, Harlow,” Mike says, leaning over the console to meet my eyes. He offers me a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

“Anna will be there, though.”

“Well, yeah…” Mike shrugs. “But so will we. You won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Besides,” Jax starts. “Don’t you want an excuse to get laid?”

“Jackson!” Beck snarls, parking the SUV sharply outside of Kieran’s townhouse. “Do you have no boundaries?”

Jax holds up his hand in surrender and climbs over the backseat as Kieran climbs into the car. “Just saying. Homecoming is a tradition of sex, man. You know this.”

I wonder just _how_ well Beck knows that, but don’t comment. Instead, I say, “I won’t even have anyone to go with.”

“What about that Haverford chick?” Kieran asks, joining the conversation seamlessly. He’s actually dressed today. I guess all it takes for the man to wear clothing is cold weather. Good to know.

“She hasn’t said anything.” Jamie may not even want to go to homecoming. She tends to like avoiding all social interaction. “I don’t want to go to some stupid dance, anyway. It’s not like I have anything nice to wear to it. In case you’ve all forgot, I’m poor.”

“Your mom is making a ton of money right now,” Beck stubbornly points out. “She can buy you a dress.”

I cross my arms and demand, “Why are you so hellbent on me going to homecoming? I’m pretty sure you told me to _lay low_ a few weeks ago.” I scoff, remembering his threat on my first day of school.

Beck growls in frustration. “Why do you have to take everything I say so seriously? And it’s just a dance. I’m sure even you can’t mess anything up by going.”

“So, you think I _will_ mess something up? Nice, Beck. Really nice.” It sucks to admit, but the fact that Beck is convinced I’m going to ruin his life hurts. He has no faith in me at all, even though I feel like I’ve done a pretty damn good job of not screwing up recently. For the most part (not counting the whole Anna incident).

“That’s not what I said!” Beck sighs in exasperation.

The SUV pulls into the trailer park and stops near Adrian’s trailer. Surprisingly, Adrian is already standing outside, a lean woman with greying brown hair speaking to him. Adrian leans against the side of the trailer, head tilted upward, looking at the falling snow. The woman sits on the trailer steps, cigarette in hand. Their breaths cloud in the cool air.

Mike rolls his window down as the SUV rolls to a stop. “Hi, Mrs. Mitchel!”

The woman looks over and waves, smiling. She yells back, “Hello, Mike. How are you?”

Adrian rounds the SUV and climbs in the backseat on my side, rubbing his hands together. I mumble a greeting and scoot over so that I’m sandwiched between Kieran and Adrian, who grins at me and plops his backpack in my lap. “Hey, stranger.”

“You boys should come over for dinner tonight! Rick is working,” Mrs. Mitchel calls to Mike.

Mike looks to Beck, who nods. “We’ll be over after practice, then!” He twists around to look at me, eyes glinting. He calls out his window, “We’ll bring Harlow with us! You remember I told you about her?”

I hiss, “Mike!” How dare he invite me over to someone _else’s_ house?

Adrian smothers a laugh, placing a hand on my shoulder as Mike ignores me and continues talking to Mrs. Mitchel. “Don’t bother,” Adrian mutters. “Mike and my mom are like gossiping old ladies. You can’t stop them.”

I bite my lip and peek at Adrian. After what happened with his dad a few weeks ago, I would’ve though Adrian wouldn’t want anyone over at his house. From what I’ve gathered—although, I haven’t blatantly asked—Adrian’s dad totally beat the shit out of him. I don’t know why—but is there ever a good excuse for abuse?

However, Adrian doesn’t look bothered in the slightest about Mike inviting himself and five other people over for dinner. In fact, Adrian is watching Mike with a small smile playing on his lips, eyes far off. I almost ask what he’s thinking about, but think better and decide to mind my own business (take that, Beck). If Adrian is fine with us going over to his house, I won’t protest. I still think it’s weird that Mike invited me, though…

Mike says goodbye and rolls up his window, turning to respond to Adrian’s comment. “Together, Helen and I are an unstoppable force.”

“It’s scary how well you get along with Adrian’s mom,” Jax comments, probably trying to indicate something lewd.

Mike ignores him. “She’s my bestie. Sorry, Adrian, but I only hang out with you to see your mom. Sorry, not sorry.” Bent over the center console, Mike’s eyes are visible. There’s something in his dark eyes when he says that—something that seems like an inside joke. I don’t get it.

Adrian snorts and rolls his eyes, grinning. At least _he_ seems to get whatever Mike is hinting at. “My own mom likes you more than she like me.”

“Damn straight.”

************

When we get to school, Beck walks inside with me, bag and uniform jacket slung over his shoulder. He walks so close that I can smell his cologne, the spicy scent giving me goosebumps. I try to walk faster and avoid looking at him, but he keeps pace with me in silence. I try to duck into the library, intending on leaving him, but he follows. I frown when he walks to the back tables with me and sits down when I do.

“I thought you were meeting Kaiden,” I grumble, bothered by his presence. Beck plunks his bag in the seat next to him, watching me with bored eyes as I dig out my homework. Calculus is going to be the death of me this year.

“I am. He’s supposed to meet me here at seven.” Beck props his chin on his hand, staring at me as I try to act nonchalant and fail.

Seven o’clock is almost an hour away. I swallow thickly and try to focus on my homework. Beck stares daggers at me, though. After a few minutes, I snap, “Could you go sit somewhere else? You’re creeping me out.”

A small smirk spreads over his lips. He leans across the table and shoves a finger at my notebook. “You’re doing that problem wrong.”

I glare at him, moving my arm to hide my notebook. “Butt out.”

He scoffs, leaning back. “What was it you said to me the first time I met you? _Bring it, bitch boy_?”

I flush, ducking my head and erasing the problem on my notebook. “I was having a bad day.”

“Right.” He nods mockingly. We sit in silence for several minutes while I try to redo the problem before Beck speaks up again. “You missed a whole section of the formula. Here.” He drags my notebook across the table toward him.

“Hey!” I try to drag the notebook back, but he easily swats my arm away.

Beck writes something on the notebook, turning it around so I can see it. “You keep forgetting to put Sine X over X. You can’t just multiply everything, you know.”

I frown. “I know that… Mr. Pollock didn’t explain that part.”

“Probably too focused on sleeping with his students,” Beck mutters. I snort a laugh and he grins ruefully, shoving the notebook back. “Try it again.”

I work through the problem again, punching numbers on my calculator. I still can’t solve it though. “This is fucking stupid.” I toss my pen down, sighing.

Beck tuts. “Let me see.” He takes the notebook back and scans over it. He circles part of the problem and slides it back. “You forgot Cosine X on the last part.”

I huff. “I knew that.”

************

By the time Kaiden White waltzes through the doors of the library like he owns the place—and he very well may, for all I know—Beck has helped me through most of my Calculus homework and some of the Chemistry bullshit that was technically due last week.

Kaiden White is a shorter guy with white-blond hair and light blue eyes. He’s pale and perfectly dressed, and at first glance, you would never be able to tell he throws parties at which people fuck in his parents’ guest bedrooms and snort cocaine in his kitchen.

“Harper,” Kaiden greets Beck with a handshake. “Nice to see you, man. How’s it going?”

Beck, standing from the table, firmly shakes Kaiden’s hand. “Everything’s fine. You drive in all right?”

“Yeah. Snow’s coming down, though.” Kaiden takes a seat at the table, prompting Beck to sit back down. I frown at both of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Beck act like this—like a plastic businessman or something. It’s…. disconcerting.

Kaiden flashes an unnaturally white smile at me. “And this must be your future sister-in-law.”

Beck grits his teeth. “Man, you really are too much.”

I pipe in, “The idea repulses me.”

Kaiden laughs good-naturedly. “Understandable. How are you adjusting to life at Laurier, Ms. Pace?”

I know there’s a weird look on my face when I ask Beck, “Is this guy for real?”

Beck snorts, shaking his head. He says to Kaiden, “Have you looked over my proposal?”

 _Proposal_. So serious.

Kaiden nods seriously. “I did. I would be able to permit most of it. No _Fireball_ , though—can’t stand the smell of the stuff.”

Beck chuckles and shakes Kaiden’s hand once more. “Got it. I’ll tell Jax to meet with you after school on Friday.”

Kaiden nods, standing. “I’ll have my guys wait up for him outside the gym.” He then bids goodbye to Beck and nods at me before leaving the library like he was never here.

I stare at Beck judgmentally after Kaiden is gone. Beck avoids my gaze for a few minutes, before he demands, “What?”

I shake my head. “That was the fakest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Beck smiles grimly, dark eyes calculating. “Learned from the best.” I just nod, knowing that Bryant Harper truly is the master of pretenses.

************

Anna finds me after school at my locker. She looks horrible, makeup smudged and bobbed hair staticky. She glares murderously at me, leaning in to hiss, “If you say _yes_ —”

“Anna,” Matt scolds her, walking up behind her. His eyes are tormented, shadows under his eyes indicating he’s lost sleep recently. Pity makes my chest ache as I take him in. I heard that he got benched during football practice this morning; Jax told me it was because Coach thought Matt looked ill. I agree—the dude looks like he could collapse any minute.

Anna’s lip trembles as she makes eyes contact with him. She spins on her heel and rushes out the doors of the school before Matt can continue. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. His eyes meet mine. “Sorry about her. She’s not taking the breakup very well.”

I shrug and nod. It’s not easy for me to feel pity for Anna after all the shit she’s done to me. “Whatever.” I turn back to my locker, shoving books inside. Why are these things never big enough?

Matt clears his throat and I look back over my shoulder. “Would it be okay if I talked to you tomorrow sometime? I have something to ask, but…” He nods down the hall, where Mike and Adrian are marching toward us with scowls on their faces.

I bite my lip. “Why can’t you just say whatever it is now?”

Matt’s lip pulls to the side. “Your attack dogs won’t be happy with me if I ask now.”

Frowning, I say, “Okay?” Matt then leaves, heading toward the football field for practice. I stare after him, wondering what he wants to talk to me about, and why it has to wait until tomorrow.

Mike and Adrian reach me just as I’m finished loading my backpack. “What the fuck did he want?” Mike demands, glaring in the direction Matt went.

“I don’t know. He said he wanted to talk to me tomorrow.” I swing my backpack over my shoulder.

Adrian’s brows furrow in concern. He meets my eyes. “And that’s all he said?”

I nod, just as confused as he is. “Yeah.”

Adrian and Mike glance at each other, a silent conversation passing between them. “Huh…”

************

The sun is just starting to go down when Beck parks the SUV in front of Adrian’s trailer. Everyone files out of the car, slamming the doors. I hover near Jax as Mike skips to the trailer door ahead of Adrian, who calls out to Beck, “Make sure you lock the SUV!”

Beck double clicks the key fob to lock the car and then follows the guys to the trailer. Adrian digs a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, walking up the steps and inside while calling out, “We’re back, Mom!”

I wait for Mike, Beck, and Kieran to step inside the trailer. My fingers twist nervously and my heart pounds. I don’t know why I’m nervous—it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been to one of the guys’ houses. I just feel on edge for some reason.

Jax puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me up the steps. “You’ll be fine,” he reassures. “Rick the Dick is working out of state for the whole month, so he’s not here. Adrian’s mom is cool.”

I’m assuming _Rick the Dick_ refers to Adrian’s father. The knowledge that he won’t be here makes me feel slightly better, surprisingly.

When I step into the trailer, slipping my shoes off near the door by the boys’, I notice that it really is a _trailer_ —I’ve been inside of modular homes before, but this is an actual mobile home, with a slide-out dining area next to a couch and a small hallway leading back to what I’m guessing are bedrooms and a restroom. The interior of the trailer is surprisingly clean; outdated carpeting and wallpaper decorate the small living/dining area, but the small kitchen is very well-kept.

Mrs. Mitchel, greying hair in a knot at the base of her neck, stands near the stove, stirring something that smells like Italian food in a pot. She’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a pink apron wrapped around her hips. She hums as she cooks, the epitome of domestic contentment.

Mike bounces over to join her, immediately chatting away. “Helen! It’s been forever, doll!” Mike side-hugs her.

Helen laughs and leans up to press a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Good to see you, sweetie.” Her eyes, wide and blue like Adrian’s, wander over our group. Her warm gaze lands on where I linger in the entrance near Jax. “You must be Harlow! It’s nice to meet you—Adrian’s said so much about you.” She winks at me.

“Mom,” Adrian groans, slouching onto the couch in between Beck and Kieran. Jax scoots around me and lays out over their thighs, posing like a postmodern painting. Beck shoves him to the floor, where he pouts and sits cross-legged.

I smother a laugh, replying quietly to Helen. “It’s nice to meet you too…” I vaguely wonder what Adrian has said about me, but ultimately decide that I probably don’t want to know.

“You can sit down, Harlow,” Adrian says kindly, pointing to the dining table. It’s this U-shaped booth thing that’s part of the slide-out; the couch is connected to the side of the dining area by a half-wall divider. I’m unsure how all of the guys, including me, are supposed to fit there. I don’t want to be weird and linger in the doorway anymore, so I hesitantly walk over and sit on the edge of the bench, coincidentally right next to where Beck sits on the couch. I look over at the boys, catching sight of Kieran hugging a couch pillow.

I remember a comment Adrian made weeks ago about how Kieran ruined one of his mom’s couch pillows with…. I whisper, “It that _the_ pillow? The cursed one Kieran ruined with semen?”

Adrian blinks at me for a minute before he catches on to what I’m asking. He laughs, ripping the pillow out of Kieran’s arms and tucking it onto the back of the couch. “No. I threw that pillow out.” I sigh in relief.

Kieran mutters, “I can always ruin this one too.” He grabs the pillow back from the top of the couch, sulking. Adrian smothers a laugh.

“Whatever you’re making smells wonderful, Helen,” Mike gushes, washing his hands at the small sink.

Helen blushes, swatting him with a hand towel. “Oh, you flatterer.”

“Stop flirting with my mom, man!” Adrian calls teasingly. He looks happy, squished onto the couch with his friends, in this small trailer. I’m glad Adrian has his mom here. He seems to be able to cope better with her around…

I twist my fingers again and take a deep breath. I don’t want to appear nervous or anything. It would suck if my social ineptitude made things awkward—

Beck blows out a silent laugh, leaning over his knees to control himself. I frown at him, reaching over the divider between the couch and the dining area to poke his shoulder. “What’s your deal?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re so goddamn awkward. It’s really just sad.”

Offended, I smack him. My lip twitches, though. “Rude!”

“Language, Beckett Harper!” Helen lightly scolds, opening the oven and pulling a casserole dish out.

I bite my lip to hide a smile. “Yeah, _Beckett Harper_. Watch your language.”

He reaches over the divider and flicks my forehead. “Says you, pirate tongue.”

“Aw,” Jax teases from the ground. “Siblings. You’ve got to love ‘em.”

“We’re not siblings!” Beck and I both say at the same time. Beck hisses and rams his foot into Jax’s back. Jax cackles and bends over his phone. My phone buzzes in my skirt pocket and I fish it out, seeing a text from Jax in the group chat.

 **Jax:** _Is it incest if they’re not related by blood?_

“Gross!” I lean down and slap Jax’s shoulder. “Your mind is messed up.”

Adrian nods, shoving his phone away. “Yeah, man. That’s gross.”

“What?” Beck demands, frowning. He pulls out his phone. “Did you text something, Jax?”

“It was in the group chat,” Adrian explains.

“What group chat?” Beck asks slowly.

Mike brings the casserole dish to the table, grinning. “You’re not part of it. We made it when you were being emo.”

“Harlow’s the only emo one here,” Beck grumbles.

“Hey!” It’s hard to argue with him, though. I can be a little… challenging at times. At least I don’t wear inch-thick eyeliner, though…. Or shop at Hot Topic—anymore…. in the last few months… They have cool t-shirts, okay?

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Adrian says through a laugh. “I’ll add you to the group chat.”

“Son, I will never understand your sense of humor,” Helen comments.

The guys all laugh as Adrian types. He looks up after a few seconds, saying, “I sent a text, so you should be in the group chat now.”

Beck pulls out his phone and frowns deeply after a moment. “I don’t know what you just did, but you added one of my contacts to the chat too.” Adrian’s brow furrows and he leans over to see Beck’s phone.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I unlock it, opening the group chat. A little banner in the middle of the chat says **_B from My Contacts has been added._ **My eyes go wide, and I turn to Adrian. “You added someone from my contacts too!”

Adrian’s eyes meet mine in confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense. I just added Beck to the chat…” He types something on his phone. “It only says that there are six people in the chat—me, Jax, Kieran, Mike, Beck, and Harlow…”

I frown at the chat group. The list of group members at the top of the screen doesn’t include Beck on my screen. “That’s weird.”

Beck is silent. His eyes flicker up to mine, oddly wide, face pale. He whispers, “No way. There’s no fucking way.”

I frown. “Language. What’s up with you?”

He tears his eyes away from mine, furiously typing on his phone. On my screen, I see chat bubbles appear next to B’s name. I frown—until the message appears.

 **B:** _Are we that stupid?_

“What?” I squint at my screen. I type back in the group chat.

 **Harlow:** _What do you mean?_

Beck leans over the divider and stares at my screen as I type. He grabs my phone, staring at it with wide eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Harlow.”

I grab my phone back, scowling. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Beck grits his teeth, leaning close over the divider. His expression is a mixture of frustration, shock, and… is that hope? He shoves his phone in my face, showing me his screen, which has the group chat opened. There, at the bottom of his screen, are two message boxes. On the right side of the screen, the second to last message:

 **Beck:** _Are we that stupid?_

On the left side of the screen, the last message:

 **H:** _What do you mean?_

I alternate between staring at his screen and at mine, exact opposites of each other. Is Beck… B? No, that’s ridiculous. When my eyes meet Beck’s, though, and I find that he’s just as horrified as I am, I can only whisper, “Fuck.”

Helen butts in teasingly, “Language, dear.”

Language, indeed.


	18. It Sounds Like a Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy. This is really long. I debated chopping this chapter up into two separate chapters, but I kind of like the flow as it is. I'm so fucking happy that I'm close to writing the *good* stuff. ;) 
> 
> The last part of this chapter was fun to write (you'll understand when you get there).
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

Apparently, I am the most oblivious idiot on the fucking planet. Really, how did I not connect the dots? Now that I know that _Beck_ is _B_ , I feel like an imbecile. B’s name starts with a _B_ —so does Beck’s. B lives in Colorado—so does Beck. B plays football in high school—so does fucking Beck. The first day I met Beck and Adrian brought up the fact that he plays _Mutiny_ in his free time, I should’ve known. I’m so stupid—really, it’s horrifying.

But, glancing at where Beck sits on the couch through my bangs, I don’t think I’m the only one. He looks completely shellshocked, almost overwhelmed. He can’t look at me either, has been staring at his phone since we both realized how stupid we’ve been for the last two months, almost.

A small part of me considers the fact that Beck may have known all along—that he’s been playing some cruel game on me—but I know that’s not the case. A massive asshole Beck may be, but he’s not cruel. And he’s not really a bully either, as much of a dick as he can be.

Beck’s head shifts, his eyes flicking over to where I sit. I panic and jerk my eyes down to stare at my plate. I’m sitting on the far edge of the dining booth in Adrian’s trailer. The booth sits five people comfortably, so the smallest people got the booth, while Beck and Mike were booted to the couch with tv tables for dinner. They don’t seem put out at all.

Adrian’s mom made a pasta dish that smells heavenly, but I feel horrible, because the thought of eating right now makes me nauseous. I pick at my plate. How did I not know?

Beck sneaks glances at me throughout dinner, but I ignore him. I don’t want to talk to him. If he really is B—and at this point, I would be delusional if I said he might not be—then he knows every little secret that I’ve told him. He knows that I miss my dad more than anything, that I’ve never fit in with kids my age because I have a hard time understanding the value of social interaction. He knows that sometimes I purposely act like an asshole just because I’m bored and I thrive in chaos. He knows that I’ve lost all respect for my mom recently (to be fair, Beck never respected my mom in the first place). He knows too much.

In mafia movies, when people know too much, they get kneecapped or curb-stomped, fingers cut off or bones broken, or murdered in some carefully thought out torture scene. And this isn’t a formal confession of criminal intent—the whole _mens rea_ debacle—but I would be lying if I say I haven’t considered ridding the world of Beckett Harper in the last thirty minutes. He knows way too fucking much to continue living.

Beckett Harper has to die. It’s the only way I can escape the incoming embarrassment and humiliation. I can’t face him now, not now that I know he _knows_ me—better than anyone, really. B was the guy I confided in for almost a year, the one who stayed up late with me and comforted me when Mom announced the move, the one who I’ve been secretly crushing on for months and months—despite the fact that I’d never met the guy.

And now that I know that B is Beck, I can’t cope. It feels like a mixture of disappointment and grief; the knowledge that the guy I’ve been mentally romanticizing turns out to be a total dickwad is something I cannot handle. I can count at least ten isolated incidents in the last two months where Beck almost made me cry. In my head, I can’t compute the fact that B is _Beck,_ the guy who has made my life just a little more miserable since I moved here. B has always sounded so smart when we talked, so mature and intelligent; while I know that technically Beck is more academically inclined than I’ll ever be, he’s still an idiot in my eyes. Beck _can’t_ be B—and if that’s not a sentence that gives you a headache…

It doesn’t make sense, and so Beckett Harper has to die. Either that, or I need to get a fake passport, change my name, and move to a small European country where no one will ever be able to find me. I will become a lady shepherd and will care for goats until I die of old age by the name of Agatha or Genevieve. I can imagine it now: dying peacefully in my sleep, a goat by my side, content with the fact that I never had to face Beckett Harper or his stupid messy hair again. If only.

***********

After dinner and sitting tensely at the table while the guys talked to Mrs. Mitchel, I am the first one out of the trailer. The sun has set already, and moonlight reflects off of the snow on the path in front of the trailer. My shoes are barely on my feet before I’m trudging through a few inches of snow to the SUV, yanking open the backseat door and climbing into the third row. Beck follows me out, calling my name. I ignore him and turn my face when he gets into the driver’s seat, twisting around to look at me.

“We need to talk about this, Harlow,” he says, frustration and pleading in his voice.

I tighten my jaw and stare resolutely out the window as the rest of the guys—save for Adrian—climb into the vehicle. “No, we don’t. In fact, I plan to never acknowledge what happened tonight ever again.”

Jax sits down heavily in Adrian’s usual spot in the second row and frowns between me and Beck. “What’s up with you two? You got all quiet during dinner.”

Beck ignores him. “Harlow, come on—I didn’t know.”

“Well, I didn’t either! And we’re dropping this!” I plan out my escape route when we get home. I’ll rush out of the car, bolt into the house, and then lock myself in the guest bedroom until I figure out how to change my identity and get a passport, or starve to death. Does the FBI offer witness protection services for people who are being threatened by their own humiliation?

“Harlow—”

“Drive,” I order through gritted teeth. I don’t look up at Beck.

He sighs after a long moment, sitting properly in the driver’s seat and starting the car.

************

My escape plan almost works. I get out of the SUV before it’s even completely parked in the garage (I thought ahead of time after Kieran and Jax were dropped off, and climbed into the second row to make exiting easier). I rush into the house and make it halfway up the stairs to the second floor before Beck catches my arm and stops me.

“You don’t get to run from this!” he pants, having run after me.

I yank my arm away from him, rushing up the rest of the stairs. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He halts me on the second floor landing, stepping in front of me and holding his hands out. “There is _so much_ we need to talk about!”

“No.” I can’t meet his eyes, swatting at his hands and trying to dart around him. Beck dances back and forth with me, blocking my path every time I try to leave. I growl in frustration, contemplating kicking him in the balls.

“What are you doing?” Mike asks, coming up the stairs.

I blink at the _Twinkie_ in his hand. “Beck is bullying me.”

“I am not!” he cries, like a three-year-old.

“Are too!” I guess we’re both three today.

Beck’s face is frustrated, dark eyes burning as he glares at me. “Knock it off.”

“ _Knock it off_ ,” I mock him, once more trying to get around him.

He holds his arms out wide, blocking the entire hallway leading to the guest bedrooms. “You’re not leaving! We _are_ talking about this—”

“No, we’re not! We are forgetting this ever happened—” my voice raises to a near-shout.

Beck matches my volume, walking closer. “You can’t just run away from this, Harlow!”

“What is with all the noise down here?” Bryant demands from the top of the third floor staircase. His footsteps thud on the stairs as he comes toward us.

Beck’s arms drop. He stares at his father with barely concealed resentment. He’s obviously still mad at Bryant for hitting him.

As much of an asshole as it makes me, I use this opportunity to escape. I dart around Beck while he’s distracted, sprinting down the hall.

“Goddammit, Harlow!” Beck bellows behind me. I can hear his footfalls close by.

I make it to my room, bursting through the door and turning around, trying to slam the door shut. Beck catches the door and throws it backward, causing me to stumble further into the room to avoid being hit by it. He stomps into my room, slamming the door shut behind him and flicking the lock. He scowls at me, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door.

“Get out!” My voice shakes when I say it, eyes frantically trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. Why is he in here? Why did he lock the door?

“Really mature.” Beck sneers, refusing to move.

Someone bangs on the bedroom door. “Beckett! What the hell are you doing?” Bryant demands, trying the doorhandle.

“Go away!” Beck calls. “Harlow and I are talking.”

“Beck,” Bryant warns through the door. “I don’t like this.”

Beck rolls his eyes. “We’re not fucking, Dad. Relax.”

At the thought of Beck—and _fucking_ —I swallow, rushing over to the bedside table and clicking on a light. My room is just a simple guest bedroom: a bed, a closet, a dresser, two bedside tables, and a desk pushed against the wall near the door to the bathroom. Nothing extravagant ~~even though this room is twice the size of the room in my old house.~~

Beck’s uniform shirt is undone at the collar, the slightest hint of skin showing at the base of his neck and the tops of his collarbones. His hair is wild around his head, a halo of darkness. His eyes are angry, and confused. He sighs heavily. “We need to talk.”

“No.” I turn to my desk, sitting heavily in the chair and moving around some pens and pencils. I may or may not have stolen most of them from other people at school. People just leave cool pens on tables all the time, okay?

“Harlow.” Beck walks closer. I stare down at the desk, not responding, moving a pen around with my fingers. If I don’t acknowledge his existence, he can’t exist. Rationality. “Harlow,” Beck says again, tone pleading.

I inhale deeply and peek up at him through my hair. “What?” I whisper.

Beck looks hesitant, glancing away from me, then back. “I…. I didn’t know it was you.”

I slowly nod. “I know. I didn’t know you were….” B, I want to say. It sounds stupid in my head, though. I should’ve fucking known he was B. Dammit.

A sharp laugh escapes him, and he presses a hand over his face, tilting his head back. “Jesus, we’re fucking idiots.”

My lip trembles as I laugh with him, almost hysterically. “We are. What the fuck is wrong with us?”

Beck lowers his hand, dark eyes connecting with mine. “So, you’re… H? Angry Dino?” He snickers.

I snort. “I’ve always wanted to know why your username is Mass Murdering Turtle. Although, thinking about it now, I guess you do kind of look like a reptilian serial killer.”

Beck’s lips pull to the side, eyes alight with humor. He sobers then. “I don’t know what to say to you right now. I’ve thought of meeting H for almost a year, and yet…”

I nod. Some part of me does an internal happy dance at the thought that B— _Beck_ —wanted to meet me as H even before he knew who I was. “It’s kind of… awkward.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He swallows, walking over to my bed and sitting on the edge facing the desk. I twist my chair around so I can see him. He’s close, his knees two feet from mine. His tilts his head in thought, staring at me. “It’s nice to meet you, H,” he says softly, holding a hand out toward me.

This bizarre, fuzzy feeling pools in my stomach. It’s giddiness, I realize. I put my hand in his, realizing that this is the first time I’ve ever actually touched Beck’s hands, or really looked at them. I know that they’re big and callused from football, his nails neatly cared for and clean. He has a series of calluses on his index finger and thumb, probably from holding a football. I swallow thickly, studying the veins on the back of his hand, the bone of his wrist at the juncture leading to his forearm. Beck’s uniform shirt is wrinkled from being rolled and unrolled all day, the cuff creased near the base of his wrist.

“Nice to meet you too.” I can’t help the hilarious giggle that slips past my lips. I yank my hand back covering my burning face. “Sorry,” I say through another giggle. “This is completely ridiculous!”

Beck laughs lowly. “It is.” When I peek at him through my fingers, I see that his cheeks are flushed the barest amount of red. He clears his throat. “I really don’t know what to say…”

I exhale deeply. “You’re probably disappointed.” He makes a questioning sound, so I continue, “That _I’m_ , you know… H.” Great. I sound like I have low self-esteem. I mean, I _do_ , but Beck doesn’t need to know that.

Beck snorts, though, causing my eyes to go wide. He’s grinning when I look at him, the widest smile I’ve seen since I met him. My brain short-circuits at the pull of his full lower lip, the slight crease around the edge of his mouth, his bright eyes…

Shit, I think, looking away. My face feels hot.

“I honestly don’t know what I was expecting,” Beck says, completely oblivious to my mental breakdown. “I mean, I’m kind of glad that H isn’t some fifty-year-old creep.”

I say without thinking, “I could be a fifty-year-old creep, for all you know.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning over his legs and across the space between us to flick my forehead. “If you really are H, then that means your birthday is tomorrow. Eighteen is nowhere near fifty, dumbass.”

I swat his hand away, trying to summon a glare. I can’t manage it, though, completely distracted by the fact that B—Beck—remembered my birthday. I mutter, “I only told you that once.”

He nods, biting his lip and glancing away. “I kind of remembered, though. I marked it on my calendar.”

I frown. “Why? It’s not like we knew each other in real life or anything.”

Beck meets my eyes dead-on. “I was planning on sending you _Mutiny Credits_. Even though you’re a pain in my ass in real life, we _were_ kind of friends on the platform.” He stands moving to the door.

I bite my lip, unsure if I offended him somehow. Beck turns back to face me, though, and he has a grin on his face. “Speaking of _Mutiny_ , I need to see if you’re actually good at the game. I’ve suspected that you’ve been using cheat codes for the last year. There’s no way you got to a higher rank than me without outside help.”

I narrow my eyes, standing and pulling my laptop and charger off of the desk. “You’re on.”

Beck unlocks the door and sarcastically swings it open, waving his arm grandly. “After you, Your Highness.”

There’s no evidence that I kick him in the shin on the way out of the room. He might yelp and curse at me, but he has nothing to prove in court.

************

“You’re so cruel!” Harlow cries, furiously typing on her keyboard and clicking her mouse.

I laugh evilly and finish hacking away at her avatar, severing one of its arms off. A banner spans across my screen.

**Player _Angry_Dino_ has died.**

**Player _Mass_Murdering_Turtle_ has achieved MUTINY! **

“Oh, you monster!” Harlow moans. “Look what you did to my arm! My arm, man!” She turns her screen so that I can see her avatar, lying on the battlefield on the forest server, deceased and missing a limb.

I snicker and log off of _Mutiny_. “You’re the one who insisted on fighting with no power-ups.”

“You were supposed to play fairly, though,” she whines, shutting her laptop. She scoots it onto the couch next to her, bringing her knees up.

I mess around with my email, checking on a homework assignment that’s due in a few days. We’ve been hiding in the basement for over two hours, taking turns killing each other on _Mutiny._ As weird as it sounds, I don’t mind hanging out with Harlow by myself right now. It’s odd, because normally I would be desperate for the guys to act as buffers, but she’s surprisingly easy to get along with when she’s not crying or screaming in my face.

I know that tomorrow is her birthday, now that I know she’s H. I almost want to ask her why she hasn’t said anything about it to me or the guys, but I figure I don’t want to know. I’ll admit, I’ve been kind of a dick to Harlow since she moved into our house. I know I have. To be fair, she needs to establish boundaries and stop being nosy, but that’s neither here nor there.

I plan on talking to Adrian and the guys tomorrow morning at practice about doing something for Harlow’s birthday. I feel like sending her some _Mutiny_ _Credits_ isn’t going to cut it anymore. An old conversation we had months ago lingers in the back of my mind, but I need the guys’ input before I make any concrete decisions.

Footsteps descend the stairs to the basement. “What are you guys up to?” Mike asks around a yawn. He’s changed into pajama pants, minus a shirt.

I frown, consciously aware of the fact that Harlow’s eyes flicker to his bare abdomen, then away. “Where’s your shirt?” I demand, an ugly feeling rising in my chest.

Mike blinks, glancing down. “It’s hot.”

“It’s snowing outside,” I grumble darkly, shutting off my laptop.

Mike’s brow furrows. He plops down on the couch next to Harlow, shoving her laptop over. He mock-whispers to her, “Why is he in a mood?”

“I don’t know.” Harlow is frowning at me too, confused. I avoid her eyes. I don’t know why I act the way I do sometimes, either. Harlow continues, “I mean, he was overjoyed a minute ago. He totally decimated me in _Mutiny_.”

Mike pouts. “You guys were playing _Mutiny_ down here? Why wasn’t I invited?”

I stand, gathering my laptop. I pat Mike on the shoulder as I pass him. “We’ll invite you next time.” I head toward the stairs.

“I didn’t know you played _Mutiny_ , Harlow,” Mike says.

I go still, remembering the fact that I invited H—who is Harlow—to play with me and the guys a month ago. And Jax was totally…. inappropriate. If the guys find out that I’ve been talking to _Harlow_ over _Mutiny_ for like a year…. No, that wouldn’t be good. Not at all.

Harlow starts to respond, but I turn and interrupt her. “It’s her first time playing.” Mike looks over at me in surprise. “I was just showing her how to make an avatar.”

Harlow raises a brow. “Um… What—”

“ _Right_ , Harlow?” I say, nodding my head. I try to communicate with my eyes _play along_.

She blinks at me, but then recognition flashes across her face. She nods meaningfully. “Right. Yeah.” She coughs.

Mike looks between us. “Okay…. You guys are obviously up to something, so I’m just going to—” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, standing from the couch. He passes me at the base of the stairs, sending me a weird look as he leaves.

I make sure he’s gone before I look back at Harlow. “The guys can’t know about this.” I motion between us. At the flash of hurt over her face, my gut clenches. “Not because I’m ashamed or anything! It’s just—they’ll totally make my life miserable. They’ll never let us live it down, Harlow,” I plead.

The hurt vanishes from her expression and she nods understandingly, humor lifting the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think I need Jax knowing about this.” She gets up from the couch, laptop in her arms. “He was that Red Thunder player, right?”

I sigh, tilting my head back. “I’m still sorry about what he said. I almost killed him.”

Harlow snorts and follows me upstairs. “He can be kind of gross sometimes.”

“ _Sometimes_? More like _always_.”

***********

By morning, there’s half a foot of snow on the ground. I almost expect Laurier to call in a snow day—but, as Mike informs me, Laurier only calls snow days when the roads are “undrivable.” As if six inches of snow and ice is _safe_ to drive in!

People from Colorado are insane.

I’m already eighteen years old when I climb into the back of the SUV, settling into the second row, emotionally drained from yesterday. I was born at around four o’clock in the morning, eighteen years ago today; Dad used to tease me that having to wake up at midnight and rush to the hospital was _so_ not worth it. He would always give me an ice-cream cake on my birthday, the kind that no one really likes to eat, save for the cookie part in the middle.

I haven’t had an ice-cream cake since Dad died. He passed away the July before I turned fourteen, leaving Mom a wreck and me with grief lingering as I went into eighth grade.

Mom typically gets me something small for my birthday—a new coat, some perfume, a phone case. Nothing outrageous. Last year, she spent my birthday fighting with Officer Price. She gave me a gift-card to a Chinese food restaurant three days after my birthday, which I never used. I hate Chinese food. I don’t really expect much from her this year, and am extremely grateful this morning that the guys leave so early for school; I didn’t even have to suffer through her awkward _happy birthdays_ before we left.

Beck must have told Mike that today is my birthday, though, because Mike hands me an ice-cold beer over the seat as Beck backs out of the garage.

I giggle and take it. “Why are you giving me alcohol?”

Mike’s expression is firm when he twists over the console to look at me. “While I am very disappointed you neglected to tell me about your birthday, the least I can do is get you tipsy before school.” He winks at me, running his fingers over his undercut.

I clutch the can of beer, the cool aluminum making my fingers go numb. “I don’t drink, though.” I try to pass the beer back up front.

Mike grumbles, taking the beer and shoving it into his backpack. “Of course you don’t. Way to appreciate my gift.”

Beck snorts, saying, “I told you she wouldn’t want it.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, looking oddly happy. On anyone else, happiness looks good. On Beck, happiness looks odd, foreign—damningly attractive. “He was adamant about giving you something for your birthday.”

I reach over Mike’s seat and pat the top of his head. “Thank you, Mikey. I appreciate the sentiment.”

He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. My eyes go wide when he looks over his shoulder at me with a wicked smirk. “I texted Jax this morning. He’s pissed at you too.”

I yank my hand back, heart pounding as the SUV stops in front of Jax’s house. “What did you do?” I whisper, horrified.

Mike cackles as Jax wrenches open the door, climbing into the backseat, almost onto my lap. He’s sobbing hysterically, hangs gripping at my shoulders as he presses his face into my stomach.

“W-why didn’t you t-tell me?!” he cries, getting his gross teenage boy germs all over me.

“What the fuck?!” I push him off of me.

He sniffles and closes the door, crossing his arms over his chest. To Beck, he says, “Drive, Seymour.” To me, he says, “We are seriously going to have to reevaluate our relationship if you can’t even tell me when your birthday is, Harlow.” Beck grumbles about the nickname, but the car starts moving.

I make a face at Jax. “Sorry. I wasn’t aware it was that big of a deal—”

“Of _course_ it is!” Jax leans toward me, orange hair curly and messy. It doesn’t look like he’s brushed his hair yet. He’s also not wearing shoes, his socks soaked from the snow, but that’s another issue entirely. “I _trusted_ you, but you don’t trust me!” he exclaims, placing a hand over his heart, as if betrayed.

I laugh and shove his face away. “I’m sorry, poor baby. If it makes you feel any better, Mike brought a beer.”

Jax immediately perks up, turning his attention to Mike, who passes the beer over the backseat. “Drink it quickly,” Mike says. “Don’t want to get pulled over.”

When Beck steers the car away from Kieran’s house and toward the highway, the usual route we take to get to Laurier, I ask, “Why aren’t we going to Kieran’s house? And Adrian lives in the other direction.”

Beck says, “Kieran’s picking up Adrian today. They have an,” his eyes meet mine in the mirror again, a glint in his dark gaze, “ _errand_ to run for me.”

Jax cackles, almost done chugging the beer. His green eyes are psychotic when he looks at me. “You have _no idea_ what’s coming.” Dread curls in my stomach at his words. I don’t feel any better when Mike joins Jax in laughing, or when Beck smirks.

What the fuck are they plotting?

***********

The boys all wander off to the football field when we get to school. I don’t see Kieran or Adrian anywhere, so I go hide in the library until school starts. Jamie finds me at around seven-thirty, bringing me a cupcake and a book that has a shirtless dude on the cover.

Her face is bright red as she explains the book to me. “It’s _gay_. It’s about Navy Seals, and they fall in love, and it’s my absolute favorite thing ever! You’ll love it.”

I pick up the book, turning it over to read the back cover. Something about animal magnetism makes me look up at Jamie judgmentally. “This is book porn.”

She bites her lip and nods, scooting close and lowering her voice. “It’s gay erotica.”

I raise a brow, looking around. The only person in the library is the librarian, an older woman who has to use hearing aids to watch tv. I flip the book open, eyes growing wide at the passage presented to me.

_Jake stripped off Kevin’s trousers, palming his swollen cock through the fabric of his boxers. “You like that, baby?” Jake husked. His golden eyes blazed with desire, arousal making him almost frantic as he ran the palm of his hand over the head of Kevin’s member._

_Kevin whimpered and tugged at the belt tying his hands to the headboard. “Jake. Sergeant—” Kevin broke off with a low moan as Jake slowly pulled away and peeled the boxers over Kevin’s hips, his cock springing free and slapping on his belly. Precum glistened on the flushed head—_

“Oh my fucking god, Jamie!” I slam the book shut and hit her lightly with it in the shoulder. “What did I just _read_?” My cheeks are burning, the ache between my thighs unmistakable.

Christ.

She chortles gleefully, almost falling out of her chair. I bite my lip and shove the book into my backpack. I’m definitely reading the entire thing tonight after school.

“Why was he tied up with a belt?” I whisper after a moment, glancing guiltily at my backpack.

Jamie giggles wickedly and whispers back, “Have fun reading that tonight, my innocent child.” She stands to avoid my hand as I try to smack her, dancing away with a wild laugh. “I love corrupting you!”

**********

Matt Dahmer finds me in the hallway as I’m heading to lunch. Beck and Adrian tense up a few feet behind me; they’ve been whispering secretly all morning, but they won’t tell me what they’re up to. None of the guys will.

Adrian and Kieran showed up halfway through second period, apparently. I have no idea what they were doing this morning, but some part of me suspects that I’m better off not knowing.

Matt leans against the wall outside the cafeteria, expression lighting up when he sees me. He ignores Beck and Adrian, walking over to me and stopping a few feet away. He smiles nervously. “Hey. Do you have time to talk right now?” He glances over my shoulder at the guys.

“No, she doesn’t,” Beck says firmly, walking up to stand at my side.

Annoyance flares in me when I notice that he’s angling his body slightly in front of mine. I elbow Beck lightly and say to Matt, “Sure. What’s up?”

Matt swallows, glaring at Beck. “Can we talk alone?”

I start to say, “Sure—”

“No,” Beck interrupts, jaw clenched. He towers over Matt, looking down his nose at him. “If you need to say anything to Harlow, you can say it right here.”

“Beck!” I look back at Adrian, but he offers no help, also glaring at Matt. I throw my hands up. “Jesus, you two!” To Matt, I say, “I’m sorry about them.”

Matt waves his hand, offering me a tense smile. His eyes are still locked on Beck’s. “It’s fine. Maybe we could just step to the side and talk?” His eyes narrow. “Your guard dogs can watch to make sure you’re _safe_.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. “Fine.” To Beck and Adrian, I hiss, “Go away.”

Beck gnashes his teeth. “No.”

“Sorry, Harlow,” Adrian pipes up, mouth set grimly, eyes trained on Matt. “Can’t do that.”

I groan in frustration and follow Matt down the hall. Beck and Adrian glare at us the whole time, standing stiffly outside the cafeteria. Matt stops near a row of lockers several yards away from the guys, tearing his eyes away from them.

He takes a deep breath and shakes out his hands, smiling ruefully. “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

I tilt my head. “Why?”

His eyes are flinty, bouncing away from mine. “I need to ask you…. Uh….”

Impatience rears its ugly head. I try to smile nicely at Matt. He just got broken up with, after all. “Yeah?”

Matt swallows thickly. “You know how homecoming is on Friday, right? Well, I was planning on going with Anna—but, you know, she broke up with me.” He barks out a humorless laugh and continues, “I would go by myself, but that looks lame. And I thought, ‘Hey, Harlow’s kind of cool,’ so…”

I blink at him. “Are you trying to ask me to go to homecoming or something?”

Matt nods, relieved that he didn’t have to say it. “Yeah. Like we could totally go as friends, though!” he rushes to reassure.

I squint at him skeptically. “We’re not really friends.”

He sighs. “Yeah, but we could be! Think about it—we both like K-pop, and anime, and neither of us has many friends…” He rubs the back of his neck, staring at me hopefully.

I glance back at Beck and Adrian. They’re still glaring daggers at Matt. “I don’t know…”

“Please!” Matt begs. “I don’t want to go by myself. And it would just be two friends going as a platonic pair?”

“I wasn’t even planning on going, honestly.” I’ve been planning on avoiding Beck and the guys on Friday and then _accidentally_ forgetting about the dance so that I don’t have to go. It seems like a solid plan, in my book.

“But it’s homecoming. Please, Harlow?” Matt looks down, scuffing his shoe. He sniffs. “I just got broken up with and I really want to go…”

I swallow and stare at his shaved head for a long time, feeling my resolve cave bit by bit. Finally, I sigh. “Fine.”

Matt looks up and grins. “Yes!”

“But just as friends.” I point at him firmly, backing away toward the cafeteria.

Matt nods, eyes alight with something I can’t place. “Got it. Thanks, Harlow!”

“You’re welcome?” I mutter to myself, rejoining Beck and Adrian.

“What did he want?” Beck demands, looking for all the world pissed off.

I shrug unhappily. “I guess you got your way. I’m going to homecoming now.”

The boys trail me into the cafeteria. “With Dahmer?” Beck scowls. “No.”

I groan in exasperation and grab a lunch tray. “You don’t have a say in it, Beck. Besides, we’re just going as friends.”

Adrian says, “But you’re not friends with Matt.”

“That’s what I told _him_ ,” I grumble, already dreading having to find a dress in the next three days.

***********

Beck bitches and moans about me agreeing to go with Matt to homecoming for the rest of the day. He gets in a worse and worse mood through lunch and completely avoids me during P.E.—which isn’t that much of a change from his usual indifferent attitude toward me.

He seems to be in a better mood when we drive home, though. Kieran takes Jax in his car; they’re supposed to be meeting us at Bryant’s house. Adrian sits in the backseat with me and teases me about knowing something that I don’t the entire ride, Mike butting in unhelpfully on occasion.

At the house, Beck pulls into the garage and rushes out of the car, going over to stand in front of the house door with his arms crossed. When I get out of the car and see him standing there as a human barricade, I frown. “What are you doing?”

Beck nods his head at Mike and Adrian, who are standing behind me. “Blindfold her, boys.”

I protest, whacking at hands and chests, anything I can reach. Somehow, Adrian and Mike still manage to tie a blindfold over my eyes through their laughter.

Someone puts their hands on my shoulders. I know it’s Mike when he says, close to my ear, “You’re going to love this, Low.”

I’m disarmed by the nickname enough to let them lead me up the steps and into the house. Mom and Dad are the only ones who have ever called me _Low_ —and even then, Mom doesn’t really call me anything anymore. She tends to avoid me at all costs, and when she _does_ speak to me, she’s typically yelling _Harlow Pace_. Less than desirable.

“Wait here,” Beck calls. I’m pretty sure we’re in the living room, because Mike gently guides me to sit on the couch.

I inhale deeply. “I don’t like this whole blindfold thing, guys.” Adrian laughs from somewhere close by.

The front door slams shut, followed by footsteps on the tile entryway. A heavy presence joins me on the couch, an arm wrapping around my shoulders. Jax says, leaning into me, “We’re the best, Low. We just really are.”

There’s that nickname again. “Why are you all calling me that?”

“What? Low?” Mike asks from somewhere close. “It just seems to fit you better.”

“Yeah.” Jax ruffles my hair obnoxiously over the blindfold. “It’s ‘cause you’re so fucking short.”

“Low to the ground.” Kieran snickers from somewhere in the room.

Footsteps sound on the stairs. Beck’s voice gets louder as he says, “Okay! I got him.”

_Him?_

“Take the blindfold off. Slowly,” Beck orders, voice oddly soft.

I squint as my eyes adjust to the bright light of the living room. Beck stands in front of where I sit on the couch, a small bundle of golden fur in his arms. I gape as a small head lifts, a little mouth opening wide in a yawn.

“Is that a puppy?” I whisper, leaning forward in shock. I know my mouth is hanging open, but I can’t register anything to care enough right now. Beck is holding a _puppy_. A fucking puppy.

Jax cackles next to me, bouncing up and down like a little kid. “Don’t you love us? Oh, you do! You love us so much!” He laughs wildly.

Beck’s face is creased softly, teeth worrying his lower lip as he watches me. His dark eyes are soft, almost nervous, as he bends forward and sets the puppy in my lap. I pet its head, lifting the ball of golden fur up and staring into its eyes. They’re like the warmest chocolate color I’ve ever seen. Its cheeks are chubby, the hair on the top of its head silky and soft. The puppy licks my nose and I gasp out a hilarious giggle.

“I remembered you said you wanted a dog a while ago,” Beck says softly. I stare at him. Yeah, I did say that—on _Mutiny_ , like six months ago. I swallow thickly. I can’t believe he remembered that.

“He’s purebred,” Kieran says. “My aunt breeds show dogs—golden retrievers.”

“You got me a dog?” I ask Beck, lips numb. I cradle the puppy to my chest, this tight feeling squeezing my throat and making it hard to breathe.

Beck shrugs, bashful for the first time since I met him. “We all did.”

“It’s mine?” I whisper, burying my face in the puppy’s fur.

“ _He’s_ all yours,” Adrian pipes up softly.

And I can’t help it, can’t stop my face from crumpling. A deep sob escapes my chest and I hide my face in the puppy’s back, trying to breathe.

I’ve been asking Mom for a dog for years. _Years._

This is the most anyone has done for me in a really long time. My mom barely remembered my birthday last year. Fuck that Chinese food gift-card. I hate myself for feeling like this, but it’s been a really long time since anyone showed that they care about me.

And I know that the guys aren’t really my friends— but dammit, this feels an awful lot like they care about me, just a little. And the prospect that five dumb teenage boys could give a shit about me, more than even my own mom, brings tears to my eyes. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide, because I feel warm and cared for and _special_.

These _dumbasses_ make me feel special. How dare they.

“Hey—what’s wrong?” Jax leans away a little bit.

“You got me a _puppy._ On my birthday.” I can barely get the words out, voice trembling with tears.

“Do you not like it?” Mike asks softly, placing a hand on the top of my head. He’s standing next to the couch.

I shake my head, voice muffled by fur when I say, “I _love_ it.” I inhale shakily and lift my head, blinking around at the boys as my cheeks flush. Can’t fucking believe they made me cry. Assholes.

“Are you sure you like him?” Beck asks, lip quirking. “I mean, we can always take him back if you don’t—”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence, Beckett Harper.” I press a sweet kiss on top of the puppy’s head. He’s so sleepy, eyes drooping in my arms. I briefly wonder where the boys were hiding him all day.

The boys laugh, Jax saying, “Since you’re so adamant that you have no friends, we thought we’d get you a friend who can’t leave.” He cackles, arm still wrapped around my shoulders.

I sniffle and elbow him, careful not to jostle the puppy. “I hate you so much.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re past that now, by the way,” Adrian pipes up. I meet his eyes, his blue gaze affectionate and soft. “You’re our friend, Low. You don’t really have much of an option anymore.”

Mike snorts. “It sounds like a threat.”

Beck remarks, “It is.” My eyes lock with his. His dark eyes gleam as he says, “There’s no _way_ you’re getting out of this, Low.” His lip tilts upward in a challenge.

I swallow at his use of the nickname, trying not to stare at his mouth as his lips wrap around my name. A shiver passes down my spine and I inhale deeply, burying my face back in the puppy’s fur.


	19. Am I Really That Selfish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grad school is kicking my ass. I'm starting to loathe my desire to make a lot of money in the future.... There's just something about professors telling me to do shit that makes me want to NOT do that shit?? You know??? Like maybe it has something to do with me not liking authority figures - or being allergic to writing 20 page essays. Maybe the last one (I say, as if I haven't written 250 pages worth of whatever the fuck this story is in the last couple weeks). XD
> 
> Here's a chapter that sets off an atom bomb of plot development!!! 
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

Mom’s not happy about the dog. I’ve decided to name him Pascal—for reasons even I have yet to identify—and he’s the cutest baby on the planet. He must be protected at all costs.

When Mom and Bryant get back from work—they apparently had to work late tonight because of a case Bryant is representing—Mom is furious at the sight of Pascal sitting on my lap in the kitchen while Jax and Kieran try to figure out how to make a cake. They insisted on trying to bake one for me, even though I reassured them that I really didn’t need one. Sugar is all over the counter tops, eggs have been dropped on the tiled floor. Jax has a mysterious white powder on his shirt that is either flour or cocaine.

Mom sets the store-bought cake down on the counter, glaring at the puppy cradled in my lap. “What is that?”

I hug Pascal. “They got him for me.” I point at the guys, especially Beck, who is hovering near Kieran as he tries to use a whisk.

“You’re not keeping it,” Mom says firmly, dropping her purse on the wet bar and untucking her work shirt.

I bite my cheek. “Yes, I am.”

“She’s keeping the dog.” Beck glares at Mom, jaw tight.

Mom’s eyes narrow on him. “You don’t have any say in this conversation.”

Bryant comes into the kitchen, eyes tired. He offers me a smile, oblivious to the brewing conflict between his girlfriend— _fiancé_ —and son. “Happy birthday, kiddo. The big eighteen, huh?” He pats the top of my head, rounding the dining table to take a seat next to Mike on the far side. Adrian scoots his chair over to give Bryant and Mike more room.

Mom points at the puppy in my lap. “Did you know about this?” she asks Bryant.

He quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the dog with a grin. “Yeah, the boys told me this morning. Do you like it?” He directs the last part at me.

I grin and nod. “His name is Pascal.”

Bryant chuckles. “Did the boys actually remember to grab dogfood and everything, or do I need to run to the store really quickly?”

“We got everything this morning, Mr. Harper,” Adrian says. He bumps Mike’s shoulder with his own. “I made sure we got a bed and toys too.”

“Ever the responsible one, Adrian.” Bryant catches the bottled water that Kieran tosses him.

Mom stews next to the counter, arms crossed. She scowls. “I never approved of a _dog_ , Bryant. You should have asked me first.”

Bryant frowns, staring at her across the room. “Why is it such a big deal? You said she’s been asking for a dog for a while—”

“But it wasn’t your call to make!” Mom exclaims.

Beck clears his throat. “Actually, Dad gets no credit for the dog. We told him about it after Kieran had already bought it. The only reason he even knows is because the code to the garage door got changed and Adrian had to call him this morning when they were hiding the puppy in my room.”

Mom glares at Bryant, then at me and Pascal, and finally at Beck. She grabs an envelope out of her purse, slaps it onto the dining table in front of me, and then hisses, “Happy birthday.” She then storms out of the kitchen, irritation making her movements jerky.

I stare after her, trying to not be bothered by her attitude. “What’s up with her?”

Bryant sighs. “Don’t worry about your mom. She’s just tired. It’s been a long day.” He yawns an obviously fake yawn, getting up from the table. “I’m going to head to bed. Don’t need any more sugar.” He laughs, patting his completely flat, toned stomach. He leaves the kitchen.

“We won’t let her get rid of Pascal,” Mike reassures me.

“I’d love to see her try,” Beck mutters, glaring at the kitchen door through which Bryant and my mom left.

I cautiously open the envelope Mom gave me, trying not to roll my eyes at the sight of the gift-card inside. At least it’s for a pizza place this time, so I’ll actually use it. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I still wish she had put in a _little_ more effort. At least she remembered my birthday, though.

This year.

Kieran brings me a huge slice of the cake Mom brought in—he and Jax have abandoned all hope of baking a cake from scratch—and sets another piece in front of Adrian. Jax and Beck bring more slices of cake to the table and then join us, Jax sitting next to me and Beck sitting in Bryant’s abandoned spot next to Mike.

“We would light candles, but we aren’t allowed to use matches or lighters anymore in the house,” Mike says apologetically.

“Why?” I ask, shoving a forkful of cake into my mouth. Icing. Yum.

“Kieran,” they all reply simultaneously.

Adrian pipes in, “He can’t be trusted.”

“He almost burnt down the gym at school last year.” Jax grins around a mouthful of cake.

“And my room back in July. Thought it was a good idea to light the drapes on fire,” Mike says.

I side-eye Kieran, who sits to my other side. He shrugs, face somber. “I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to see how many matches I could light at the same time…”

“Never trust him with fire, Low,” Adrian mock-whispers. “You’ll regret it.”

Kieran nods in agreement, spiky blond hair barely budging.

I sneak another glance at him. I don’t know much about the guy—what with him being the quietest of the group—but I have a feeling that there’s a whole hell of a lot that I don’t know. I’m not sure if I even want to know more, to be honest.

Isn’t it common for serial killers to be the quiet ones in the friend group?

Kieran meets my eyes, a dimple forming in his cheek as he smirks darkly at me. I look away, swallowing.

I definitely don’t want to know.

************

Jamie gets her car—a purple BMW— back from the detailer’s the Wednesday before homecoming. When I ask her why it took so long to get her car back, she tells me that she was getting it repainted too. Apparently, the $50,000 car used to be _brown_. Brown cars are fugly, so I agree with the change in aesthetic.

After school on Wednesday, Jamie takes me into town to this little shop to find dresses for homecoming. Mom gave me a few hundred dollars this morning—which I plan to barely spend—and told me to get whatever I want. I’m pretty sure buying a life-size Levi Ackerman action figure isn’t what she meant, but I do temporarily consider the purchase. No, sadly, I’m sure Mom was referring to homecoming attire.

Bummer (I love you, Levi).

I convinced Jamie to go to homecoming on the grounds of saving me from Matt Dahmer and awkwardness. I still don’t know why he asked _me_ , of all people, to go with him. But, I remind myself, I’m not really _going_ with Matt. He’s coming over to the Harpers’ house, and we’re going with the guys. Together. In a limo (I’m still skeptical that Bryant actually rented a limo for Friday night, but we’ll see).

“Have you read the book yet?” Jamie asks, twirling in front of the mirror in a yellow cocktail dress.

I try not to stare jealously at her full cleavage, and instead sort through racks of dresses. “I didn’t have time. Pascal was so cute. He slept on the bed with me and snored the whole night—and I have never been happier about that fact, thank you very much.”

Pascal is my child. Don’t fuck with my kid, man.

Jamie pouts. “You need to read the book. I need to fangirl with someone about my gay children.”

I snicker. “I’ll read it tonight then.” I head back into the dressing room with a deep blue dress. It’s the only one I’ve found that has long sleeves, but it still only goes down to just above my knees. In this weather, with the amount of snow that’s been shat out on us in the last couple days, I’ll still need a heavy coat. Maybe a parka or something. Fuck Colorado.

I tug the blue dress on, walking out of the dressing room to show Jamie. Looking into the long mirror in the middle of the store, I know that I don’t look nearly as good as Jamie does in her dress. I kind of look like a little boy. Bony shoulders, practically flat chest (even with my pathetic excuse of a pushup bra), weirdly short hair for my face shape. It’s almost funny, how much I resemble a twelve-year-old boy.

“You look fantastic!” Jamie squeals, clapping her hands. “You have to get that one.”

I pick at the price tag, nodding when I calculate the dress’ cost with the thirty-percent discount being offered in the store. “Okay.”

We get our dresses and load back into Jamie’s car in very little time. As she drives me to the Harpers’ house, I can’t help but feel that I’m not reacting as I should to this whole “homecoming” fiasco.

In movies and teen books, isn’t homecoming always represented as this really exciting event in a girl’s life? Typically, there’s that theatrical scene where the girl gets all dolled up and descends the stairs of her family home in slow-motion, toward her dreamy date. Then ensues a night of dancing and maybe heartbreak… Or is that prom? Does Laurier have prom? Will I have to go (if Mom and I are even still here)?

I’m just not excited for homecoming. I don’t particularly want to hang out with Matt all night, even though I know he’ll probably end up ditching me halfway through. The guys will probably have fun getting drunk—or laid—but I don’t really think they’ll spend much time with me at the actual dance. The only person I’m looking forward to hanging out with is Jamie, and I would still rather stay at home and watch sad Korean dramas than go to a stupid dance.

I think part of me is disappointed that I’m not getting to have the same romantic experience teenage girls always have in movies. I never got grandly asked to go to homecoming (even though I didn’t know about the dance until a few days ago) (Matt’s half-assed invitation doesn’t fucking count), and I’m probably not going to have a good time at the dance anyway. Unless I lose some crucial braincells and drink the punch that I know Jax is planning on spiking, I’ll probably be one of the only sober people at the dance. I’ll end up standing in the corner all night, watching the guys drink and have fun and be _teenagers_ , and I’ll be bored to tears.

I don’t want to have to watch the guys flirt with girls and drink and forget all about me. I don’t want to watch one boy in particular do any of those things, don’t want to have to face the ugly feelings that have plagued me for a while now.

And if that’s not selfish, I don’t know what the fuck is.

************

It feels like half of the school comes over to the Harpers’ house on Friday after the football game. The boys’ game starts earlier than usual and ends at around four-thirty after school; the plan is to rush home and get ready for homecoming quickly before the dance starts at six o’clock. Jamie catches a ride in the SUV with me and the guys, bringing this huge purse and her dress in a garment bag. I don’t know what she has stuffed in the purse, but I have a feeling I’ll find out later.

Jax tries to sit in the third row with us on the way home, complaining loudly that I’m trying to replace him with Jamie as my “best friend.” Adrian eventually smacks him over the head and tells him to sit down in the second row.

The guys have suits piled in the back of the SUV, carefully shoved to the side of their backpacks and football duffels. They spend a long time getting everything out of the car when we get to the house, so Jamie and I head inside first. In my room, Jamie flops onto my bed and starts emptying her purse—which could easily fit Pascal, who tries to climb inside as soon as I lift him onto the bed. His little golden tail wags as he sniffs around Jamie happily. My child.

“Okay,” she says, gently nudging Pascal aside with a coo. “I brought a flat iron, a curler, and a blow-dryer just to be safe. I also wasn’t sure what shade of eyeshadow would look the best with your skin tone, so I brought a bunch of options.” She fans out several eyeshadow pallets, each probably more expensive than I would like to think. “I have warm, cool, and tropical themes. You would probably want to go with a cool tone to match your dress, but we don’t want to _actually_ match the dress, you know? Blue eyeshadow is so 80’s.”

I take a seat on my desk chair, staring at her as she rambles. I only understood about half of whatever the fuck she just said. “I don’t think I need to wear much makeup tonight,” I mumble. “I was just planning on some eyeliner, maybe tinted lip balm or something…”

Jamie gasps in horror, exclaiming, “No! I would never let you!”

And so, at five-fifteen, I’ve taken a shower, pulled on my cocktail dress, and am sitting through the last of Jamie’s torture. She insisted I let her put eyeshadow on me, and mascara, and do something to my eyebrows that I am still questioning. I drew the line at false lashes, cakey foundation, and lipstick. I particularly loathe lipstick. Gets all over my fucking teeth.

“I still wish you would let me curl your hair,” Jamie whines.

“Not happening.” I bat her hands away from my head. I let her blow-dry my short hair with a diffuser attachment—which took legit ten minutes because of the length—but I’m firm about not wearing hairspray. Sticky gross shit. 

My hair doesn’t look that bad, though. It’s pretty wavy and curly on the bottom from the diffuser, and Jamie put this special heat protectant on it so it wouldn’t get frizzy. It still just looks like brown hair, though. Nothing special about it.

Maybe I would be more excited about getting my hair done if I still _had_ all of my hair. Anna made sure I didn’t have the option, though.

From what I’ve heard, she’s going to be at the dance. Beck was sure she wouldn’t try anything after what happened with her dad last week, but I’m still planning on sticking close to the guys all night. As much as I want to claim that I’m a strong, independent woman who needs no man, Anna scares the bejesus out of me. All of the Harpies do.

There’s a brief knock on the bedroom door. Jamie yells out the open bathroom doorway, “Come in!”

The bedroom door opens and Natalie’s strawberry blonde head pops in. She smiles softly. “Everyone is almost ready. We’re planning on leaving at five-thirty, so we won’t be late.”

I nod, waving her inside. “Sounds good. I like your dress.” She’s wearing a red halter-neck dress that hangs below her knees. She’s got a white flower pinned in her hair, making her reddish locks stand out.

She ducks her head. “Thanks. Mike likes red, so…”

I bite my lip, almost wanting to tell her what I saw all those weeks ago. I feel horrible—like I’ve breached Girl Code or something—that I haven’t told her I saw the aftermath of Mike cheating on her. With Adrian’s help.

“Is Amy here too?” Jamie asks, handing me a tinted lip balm to put on. I roll my eyes and comply. So controlling today, this one.

“She’s downstairs with Jax. He’s been trying to pregame for the last half-hour.” Natalie sighs exasperatedly.

“I wouldn’t touch the drinks at the dance tonight, by the way,” I comment distractedly. “Jax dropped off like three boxes of alcohol at the gym earlier.” Kaiden White and a bunch of other boys—who I presume are on the student council—let Jax into the gym before the football game. Corruption at its finest.

Natalie nods at my words, backing out the door. “I don’t trust him.”

Jamie touches up her eyeliner and then beams at herself in the bathroom mirror. She has sparkly eyeshadow on, this gold color that highlights her caramel coloring. Her curly brown hair is perfectly tamed, the top half pinned back. Her dress is poufy below her waist, multiple layers of yellow chiffon making her look like a casual princess. Her boobs almost spill out of the top of her dress; I have a feeling the small spaghetti straps on her dress are the only reason she hasn’t flashed me yet.

She looks gorgeous.

I look over myself in the mirror, patting down my hair. I look somewhat decent. Not too shabby. My cheeks are flushed from the heat of the blow-dryer, my eyes brown and bright, outlined by eyeliner and light grey eyeshadow. My dress is very modest compared to Jamie’s, no cleavage on show. Not that I _have_ any to show, in the first place.

I forgot to buy a pair of heels to go with my dress, so I’m planning on wearing a pair of grey ankle boots. They have small heels, definitely not tall enough that I’ll trip and break my entire face. Because I would do that if I wore the stilettos Jamie’s pulling on. She doesn’t even wobble.

Finished getting ready, Jamie links arms with me and drags me out of the guest bedroom. I wave goodbye to Pascal and close the door, holding onto my phone and cursing the fact that I also don’t have a dinky purse to hide things in like Jamie. I am very ill-prepared for this dance, it seems. No emergency candy stashes or extra lip balm for me. I managed to tuck my I.D. and $20 in the back of my phone case, but that’s all I’ll have on me tonight.

When we get downstairs, we hear voices in the living room. Spread out on the couches are the boys, all dressed in black tuxes. I try to avoid analyzing their appearances, eyes scanning over the new additions to the group. Amy and Natalie share the loveseat, talking quietly. Amy is wearing a pastel green dress with a V-neckline. Her black hair is pinned off of her neck in an intricate brain, her narrow eyes lined in something that sparkles when she tilts her head. I’ve never talked to Amy much; we’re in the same Chemistry class, but she tends to stick to her group of friends, and I stick to mine (my nonexistent friend group is very selective, thanks very much).

As one of the only two Asian American students—and the only Chinese American student—currently attending Laurier Academy, Amy has well established herself at school. From what I’ve seen, she has a decent friend group, good grades, an adequate reputation. She never sits with Jax at lunch, but I like to think that’s because of his disgusting eating habits.

I once saw him wrap a dill pickle in a slice of pizza. He dipped the whole thing in mustard, mayonnaise, and maple syrup. Like a fucking psychopath.

Mom and Bryant are still at work, but they told us to have fun last night. Mom took me aside and said to call her if I get uncomfortable or if the boys “get out of hand.” I’m pretty sure she _wants_ me to find a reason to call her tonight—just so that she can blame it on the guys. I don’t know what her deal is, but she really has it out for Mike and Beck lately.

Looks like her “new family” agenda isn’t panning out as well as she hoped.

Matt stands awkwardly next to the fireplace in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He’s the first one to notice Jamie and I when we get downstairs.

“Hey,” Matt greets us. He walks toward me, scanning over my dress slowly, in that same way he looked at me when I first met him. He grins as his eyes meet mine. “Nice dress.”

I don’t like the way he just did that—the whole “look me up and down” thing. He has a look in his eyes that makes me uncomfortable. I laugh tensely, backing up a little. “Thanks…”

Beck stands from his spot on the couch, walking over. He scowls at Matt, moving between us. He also looks over my dress, but not in a slimy way. His cheeks flush. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe as I take in his slicked back hair, the way the suit frames his wide shoulders, hugs his biceps. He has a nice watch strapped to his wrist. Beck looks like a million bucks.

And I look like a dumpster fire in comparison.

Everyone stands from their seats, shuffling toward the front door. Adrian pauses next to Beck, grinning. “You look nice, Low.” He then winks, winding his arm around Beck’s. “Ready to go, lover?”

Beck snorts. “You’re really playing this up today, man.” He waves Adrian ahead.

I laugh to myself, vaguely noticing that Matt wonders out the front door. “Are you guys actually going as each other’s dates?”

Beck nods seriously, tongue running over his bottom lip as he stares down at me. “Adrian is the mother of my idiot children. Kieran is dating himself tonight, though.”

I giggle, following Beck into the foyer. I try not to stand too close, but my eyes linger on the back of his suit jacket, how his muscles pull and relax the fabric. He must’ve showered when we got back to the house. His cologne is strong, like he recently applied it. One of these days, I’m going to have to ask him what kind it is. I’ve never smelled anything like it before, that combination of spice and mint. It’s nice. I try not to be so obvious as I inhale deeply, reaching down to readjust my boots.

Beck ties his dress shoes on, holding the front door open for me. Parked in the long, circular driveway is a limo. Everyone is filing inside of the limo, the girls carefully lifting their dresses as they climb in. Jamie bounces up and down as she waits near Kieran, a ball of energy dressed in yellow, babbling away about how cool the limo is. I gape at it when I’m on the porch, trying to figure out how a town as small as Vail has a justified limo service.

Beck steps in close to my side, having closed and locked the front door. He bends down so that his lips brush my ear, voice low when he murmurs, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

And then he just walks away, leaving me standing on the porch, probably in shock or something. As if he didn’t just throw my entire world off its axis. Maybe I’m having a heart attack. My pulse races erratically when I finally pick my jaw up off the ground and follow him to the limo, cheeks burning and throat tight.

What the hell was that?

***********

Laurier Academy has spared no expense on this stupid fucking dance. I don’t know what I expected, but the gymnasium has been turned into a wonderland of pastel colors, strobe lights, and pop music. There are several tables set up with bowls of bunch, little snack foods being carted around by uniformed waitstaff. Several well-dressed men who resemble classy bouncers guard the entrance to the gym, nodding their heads at us as we pass. I can’t find a single teacher anywhere in the crowd of dancing students. Don’t teachers usually chaperone these types of events?

Wait—sorry. That was the public school in me speaking. How _normal_ of me. Of _course,_ Laurier Academy has to have fancy, paid chaperones for homecoming. Because why do anything the same way poor people do, am I right?

The gym looks more like a nightclub than an actual gym. It’s really dark in here, flashing lights of rainbow colors illuminating the swarm of bodies in the middle of the room. People lean against the walls of the gym, mostly hidden by shadows, obviously kissing, or grinding, or doing so much worse.

I should’ve known this would happen when there was no dress code reinforced for homecoming. There’s no way in hell most of the outfits in this gym would’ve been allowed at a public school function.

At a refreshment table near the DJ booth, I spot Anna and Leslie, Cara nearby ladling punch into cups.

“Stay close to us tonight, okay?” Beck says in my ear, hand on my shoulder.

I meet his eyes, watching the rainbow of lights dance over his slicked hair and cheekbones. I nod. “Okay.”

“Low!” Jax wraps an arm around me, the other already around Amy. “You should come dance with us!”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”

“Too bad!” Jamie pushes me forward, toward the mass of bodies in the middle of the gym “You don’t have a choice!”

I protest, but Jamie and Jax gang up on me, and soon I’ve been swallowed up by the moving bodies of the crowd. Jax stays close, making sure to always keep me in sight as he dances with Amy. Jamie tries to grind on me, mocking Jax’s seduction techniques. I cackle.

Mike and Natalie appear a few feet away in the crowd, stiffly rocking back and forth. I sway my hips with Jamie, squinting at Mike. He’s watching something, hard eyes definitely not focused on his girlfriend. I follow his gaze, finding it fixated on Adrian and Beck, who are teasingly trying to reenact the tango. It’s not going very well, from the looks of it.

I tap Jamie’s shoulder, nodding my head in Mike’s direction. His eyes never move from Adrian and Beck. “What do you think is up with him?” He looks almost… angry? Sad?

Odd.

Jamie not-so-discreetly stares between Mike and the other two boys for a long moment. Her eyes blow wide and she whips her head back around to look at me, leaning in to hiss, “How could you not tell me?!”

I frown. “Tell you what?”

She clenches her jaw, tilting her head toward Mike pointedly. “That Mike is _you know_.”

“I don’t know…. What’re we talking about again?” I’m lost.

Jamie eyes me, stopping her gentle sway entirely. She grasps the sides of my arms, leaning down to look directly into my eyes. Her mouth gapes open. “Harlow. Sweetie. Please tell me that you’re not _that_ oblivious.”

I shrug helplessly. I mean, I kind of know I’m oblivious by now—the whole _Mutiny_ thing with Beck was eye-opening. I still have no idea what she’s talking about, though.

“Harlow!” she exclaims, slapping my arm.

I gasp, hand flying up to cover the sting. “What the fuck, Jamie?!”

She grits her teeth, slapping my other arm. “No one is that dumb, Harlow!”

“Are you calling me dumb?” I blink in shock. What’s her problem?

“Jesus Christ!” Jamie puts her face next to mine, lips angled toward my ear. She whispers harshly, “Mike is gay. He’s totally pining right now.”

My head jerks back. I frown, looking back over at Mike, then at Adrian and Beck, who are still playing up the whole “married couple” act. “No….” I shake my head. “Mike has a girlfriend. See?” I subtly gesture at Natalie, whose hands are lightly resting on Mike’s shoulders. He’s not paying attention to her, and she looks bored.

“Please.” Jamie scoffs, shaking her head. “If that girl isn’t a beard, I’ll give up my inheritance. He’s gay, sweetie.”

I swallow thickly, trying to run it through my head. “But… Mike doesn’t _act_ gay.” Jamie raises a brow at me, and I backtrack. “I just realized how stupid that sounded. But Mike is just—he’s _Mike_. He likes boobs—specifically, my _mom’s_ boobs. He’s not gay.” I pause. “How would you be able to tell, anyway?”

Jamie winks, grinning. “Intuition, babe. Besides,” she motions toward Adrian and Beck with her eyes, “I’ve known Adrian bats for the other team for years. Saw him staring at a basketball player’s butt freshman year.” She waves a hand dismissively. “There’s no way Mike would be so jealous right now if he _isn’t_ gay. Or at least bisexual.”

“How do you know he’s jealous, though? He could just be tired of Adrian and Beck messing around.” Even as I say it, though, I realize how lame of an argument that is. Mike thinks the “family dynamic” jokes are hilarious. He’s the one who brings them up most of the time. But one aspect of Jamie’s argument doesn’t make sense. “I know Mike is into girls, though,” I protest, thinking back to Kaiden White’s party. “I saw him coming out of a room at a party over a month ago. He was totally cheating on Natalie.” I lower my voice for the last part.

Jamie frowns. “Okay… And that makes him automatically straight?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t think Adrian is gay, either. I mean, he was _helping_ Mike cheat. I saw them come out of a bedroom together. They were fucking the same girl, Jamie!”

Her mouth drops open. “Oh. My. God. You can’t be serious. They did that at a party?!” Her eyes light up.

I nod, thinking that she’s in agreement with me. “Yeah, I was really mad at them for a while. I mean, poor Natalie…. I still haven’t figured out who they were cheating _with_ , though.”

“Honey.” Jamie moans exasperatedly. “Oh, you poor sweet child.” She hugs me to her chest, whispering in my ear, “If you didn’t see a girl with them, that means there probably _wasn’t_ a girl.” She leans back a little to meet my eyes. “Get it?”

I frown at her. “No, but then why would they have been….” It clicks. My jaw drops. “You don’t think they were…? No…”

A massive smile spreads over her face. She nods. “Yes. They definitely were.”

“Mike and Adrian were—were _fucking_ at that party? Like—each other?” A flush rises up my throat, all the way into my cheeks. Too many images of Mike and Adrian, Adrian and Mike, flash across my mind. Mike topping Adrian, Adrian topping Mike.

I read the book that Jamie gave me. I now know way too much about how gay sex works. True to my word, I stayed up on Wednesday night and read the entire thing. It was hot. I may or may not have used the book as a little… _inspiration_. During personal time.

That doesn’t fucking matter right now, though. My imagination won’t switch off.

Adrian, getting _sweaty_ with Mike—they were sweaty when I found them, right?—at Kaiden White’s party, both of them trying to be quiet because they don’t want anyone to overhear them.

Me, finding them when they were trying to sneak out of the bedroom, guilty expressions on their faces.

Adrian, begging me to not tell _anyone_ about what I saw, but not for the reason that I thought.

Mike, not showing any guilt about cheating on his _girlfriend_.

Me, telling Beck what I saw, because I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal….

“Holy shit.” I stare at Mike, then Adrian—then at Beck, who must be as oblivious as I am. How did I not notice? How have I been so—so fucking stupid?!

The glances, the way Mike was so protective of Adrian the morning he came out of the trailer covered in bruises, the way Adrian looked so affectionately at Mike as he helped Adrian’s mom get dinner ready on Monday night. Are they dating? Are they even out yet? Did I unknowingly expose Mike’s—and plausibly Adrian’s—biggest secret to Beck by telling him about what I saw? Have I done something so unforgivable?

How the _fuck_ have I been so goddamn blind? Am I just that stupid, or am I so selfish that I can’t deduce what’s happening in other people’s lives?

What the hell is _wrong_ with me?

“Harlow? Can I talk to you for a minute?” Matt Dahmer asks, pushing through dancing couples toward me. He pauses next to Jamie, eyes flinting nervously around.

I gape at him and nod, following him obediently through the crowd and around the side of the gym. He walks toward a set of double doors behind the DJ booth, opening one of the doors and gesturing for me to go inside ahead of him. Numbly, I walk inside the darkened room, mind completely focused on everything but what I’m doing right now.

Holy shit. Adrian and _Mike_? Mike and _Adrian_?

_What?_


	20. Not for a Long Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE UPDATED TAGS. While nothing that could be triggering in this story will be very graphic, the tags exist for your safety, and mine. 
> 
> I would say enjoy, but let's be honest - this chapter fucking sucks. And not just because of my shitty grammar, as usual.

I stumble on something on the ground. I curse and look down, trying to see what I tripped on in the darkness of the room. “Hey, Matt, is there a light switch anywhere?” I find the culprit to be a discarded jump rope near my foot. I kick it to the side, squinting through the dark.

“Matt?” I ask, looking behind me when he doesn’t answer. Through the gap of the door to the equipment room, rainbow colored lights flicker over Matt’s shaved head. I can’t quite see his face, it’s so dark in here.

Something doesn’t feel right.

I laugh awkwardly, edging back toward the open door. “What’s going on?” Before I can reach Matt again, he pushes the door shut, leaning back against it. The room plunges into darkness, the only illumination coming from the smoggy window high above the room. Dull beams of moonlight filter into the room as my eyes adjust fully to the darkness. I swallow thickly. “Why’d you shut the door?” I whisper.

Matt clears his throat. “Sorry, Harlow. It’s not personal.”

“What’s not—”

The sound of unenthusiastic applause from behind me rackets up my heart rate. I spin around, squinting through the darkness. On the other side of the equipment room, three humanoid figures step out from behind a stack of gym mats.

***********

“You’re such an idiot.” I laugh, trying to figure out if Adrian is imitating a chicken or Michael Jackson. Or a forbidden hybrid of both.

He attempts some elaborate foot movement. “Don’t be jealous because you don’t have my moves, Harper.”

Jax pushes his way through a couple who look like they’re close to fucking on the dance floor, Amy and Jamie in tow. He pants, face pale. “Have you guys seen Harlow?” he shouts over the music.

My heart stills in my chest. I whip my head around. “No, I thought she was with you guys.”

Jamie says, “She walked off with Matt like ten minutes ago, but I can’t find them anywhere!”

I look over toward the refreshments table near the DJ booth, where Anna and the Harpies have been sulking all night. They’re gone. “Fucking hell.” I rush over to where Mike and Natalie sway to the music, both looking unenthused to be here. I tap Mike on the shoulder. “Have you seen Harlow?”

He frowns, looking around. “No. Wasn’t she by Jax?”

“Shit!” I run a hand through my slicked back hair, annoyed at the amount of gel I put in it now. Why did I put so much effort into my hair, again?

Right. I was trying to compete with Matt—who doesn’t have any hair. Genius.

“Kieran!” Mike yells, guiding me toward where Kieran is practically humping a junior girl. I can’t remember what her name is.

Kieran’s head snaps up, grey-green eyes bright. “Yeah?”

“Have you seen Harlow? She went off with Matt.” Like a goddamn _idiot_. Who let that girl have the ability to make decisions for herself?

“Oh, shit. That’s not good.” Kieran untangles the girl’s arms from around his neck, following me and Mike through the crowd.

We meet back up with Jax, Adrian, and everyone else, starting by searching the edges of the crowd. No luck. We split up into groups, looking around the edges of the room for Harlow, her short brown hair, her blue dress. _Anything_.

***********

Anna’s bobbed hair is identifiable as she steps forward into a ray of moonlight. “Bravo, Matty. You did well.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I demand Matt, rushing over to him. I try to shove him out of the way of the door, panic choking me. This isn’t good. This _really_ isn’t good.

Matt firmly grips my wrists, refusing to budge from the door. He spins me around, pinning my back to his chest and my arms to my side. I struggle, trying to kick back at him, headbutt him, stomp on his feet. He locks one ankle around my legs, hissing as I jerk my head back into his nose. “Dammit, Harlow! Hold still!”

“No!” I scream, clawing at his arms with my nails. “Let go of me!”

“Shut her up!” Anna hisses. I can see her face in the moonlight, this manic expression making my breath leave my chest in panic.

Is she going to try to cut my hair off again? Worse?

“Help!” I scream, elbowing Matt in the stomach. He grunts, briefly losing his grip. I try to shove him out of the way again, but he’s too big.

Leslie rushes out of the shadows, skanky dress and blonde hair glinting in the dim light. She wraps her long-nailed hands around my wrists, pulling me away from Matt and throwing me to the floor of the equipment room. I barely manage to catch myself before I faceplant. The impact bruises my elbows and palms. Before I can get my feet under me, Leslie climbs on top of my back, shoving me to the floor.

I slap at her, twisting and bucking in an attempt to get her off of me. “Help me!”

Cara comes forward and kneels down, shoving her hand over my mouth and using her other hand to shove my cheek into the cement floor. I try to bite at her fingers, but she brings my head up and slams it down into the floor as hard as she can. I’m momentarily stunned from the jarring impact, my ears ringing. I think I can feel blood on my temple from where it hit the floor.

“Don’t hurt her!” Matt exclaims, coming away from the door and hovering over us.

I glare up at him, trying to meet his eyes in the darkness. Why would he do this? Why?

“Stop the theatrics,” Anna drawls, coming over to squat down in front of me. I can’t really see her expression, but I can hear the smirk in her voice when she says, “We need to do this quickly. No doubt those stupid guard dogs of hers will come looking soon. Lock the door.” She waves a hand at Matt.

He obediently walks over to the door. The click of the deadbolt on the equipment room door sounds like a death chime. It makes me gasp for breath through my nose, still trying to buck Leslie off of me. Anna grabs a fistful of my short hair, jerking my head up harshly. I can see her green eyes through the darkness, the cruelty that lies behind them.

“You should have never moved here,” Anna hisses, tightening her grip on my hair. I wince and cry out as I feel some of my hair rip out. “You totally took Beck away from me. He _hates_ me now!”

I shake my head, a terrorized sob rising up my throat. I want to say that it’s not my fault, that I didn’t chose to come here. She wouldn’t listen even if I could speak, though.

Anna jerks my head, knocking my temple into the floor again. “Beck is _mine_!”

Matt clears his throat. “I thought we weren’t here for that.”

Anna glares at him for a minute. Then she growls, “You’re right. He fucking ruined my life.” In my face, she screams, “Do you realize what he did to me? My life is over!”

“Anna,” Leslie starts.

Anna ignores her. “It wasn’t his secret to tell! _I’m_ the one who had to get an abortion _. Me_!” She lets go of my hair and slaps the back of my head with force.

I rest my forehead on the floor whining. Breaths hitch in my chest as I try to breath, Leslie’s weight and Cara’s hand making it nearly impossible.

“Get over here, Matt,” Anna orders, standing. She’s breathing heavily, anger making her voice quake. “Do it now.”

Matt kneels down next to me, hesitating. “Are you sure this is all right—”

“ _Do. It._ ”

Matt swallows audibly. “Move her onto her back…”

Leslie shifts off of me, keeping a firm grip on one of my arms and her legs wrapped around my thigh. Cara goes to mimic her, wrestling me so that I’m basically spread-eagle on the ground. Cara’s hand slides off of my mouth so that she can hold onto me better.

A desperate sob escapes my lips, tears streaming down my cheeks and likely ruining my makeup. “Why are you doing this?” I demand, voice hitched. I yank at my arms and legs.

Matt kneels between my spread legs, making a new kind of terror zip down my spine. A ray of moonlight ghosts over his cheeks as he leans forward. He whispers, “It’s not personal…”

Anna kneels down by my head. She presses both hands over my mouth. “Stop talking. Get on with it, Matthew.”

***********

Adrian whips his head around, looking through the crowd. He suggests, “Hopefully she’s just dancing with him somewhere. Maybe we missed her?”

I hum in acknowledgment, hoping that’s the case. For some reason, a gut feeling tells me that wherever she and Matt are, nothing good is happening.

“Anna’s not anywhere in sight,” I growl, passing the table she has been holding hostage all night. Up until now. “I have a bad feeling about this, man.”

Adria stops by the DJ booth, leaning up to ask the sound technician, “Have you seen a girl with short brown hair? Blue dress? Or a guy with a shaved head?”

The sound technician frowns in thought. “I saw some kids sneak into that room over there.” He points behind the DJ booth at a set of double doors, which are mostly obscured by shadows and the booth. It’s the gym equipment room.

I grit my teeth and storm over to the room. When I try the handle, though, the door is locked. Adrian lets loose a low stream of expletives.

***********

Matt’s hands start at my calves, wandering hesitantly up my legs. I jerk and try to close my knees, screaming behind Anna’s hand. When his cool fingers reach my thighs and start to push my dress up, I close my eyes, shaking my head back and forth in denial.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. It’s all a joke, right? This shit doesn’t happen in real life.

When the fabric of my dress gets pushed up over the tops of my thighs, then over my hips and up my stomach, I can barely breathe. The cool air on my inner thighs, over my exposed panties, makes me cry harder. I feel nauseous. This isn’t happening.

Matt leans over me, bracing his palms above my head. He leans in to whisper, “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

Of fucking course I’m going to cry, jackass! I want to scream.

“I think you should give her a kiss, Matt. Little virgin doesn’t have much experience.” Anna laughs darkly, removing her hand from my mouth so that she can hold my head straight. I’m forced to look into Matt’s eyes, so full of guilt and torment. I close my eyes to get away from him, even mentally.

Matt’s lower body rests between my legs, over my abdomen. The firm presence against my thigh makes me cry harder. I can’t even make out words between my erratic breathing and sobs.

When Matt’s warm breath brushes over my cheeks, over my lips, I start to struggle again, eyes flying wide open. “No!” I scream, trying to get my hands away from Cara and Leslie.

There’s no way in hell my first kiss is going to _this_ asshole. No way.

Anna doesn’t allow me to move my head at all. “Relax. Matt’s just going to show you how to kiss. If you’re good, he might even take your virginity for you.” She cackles maliciously. “Think of it as a favor, since you seem to be holding onto it so tightly, little prude.”

Matt whisper, “I’m so sorry,” right before his lips brush over mine.

I cry out against his lips, bawling uncontrollably, unable to move away. When Matt tries to shove his tongue between my lips, I bite down hard and taste blood. He jerks away, cursing forcefully.

Loud banging sounds on the doors to the equipment room, making everyone go still. I inhale a shaky, hitched breath and scream.

************

My blood runs cold at the sound of Harlow’s terrified scream. From behind the metal doors, I can hear loud sobbing and hushed voices.

I slam my fists into the door, kicking at the metal until it dents around the lock. I kick until my heel hurts and fissures of pain creep up my shin. The door creaks and slams open.

I burst into the room, panting, Adrian not far behind. At the sight of Matt Dahmer on top of Harlow in the dark equipment room, I rage, “You piece of shit!” and lunge at him.

************

Leslie and Cara scream, scrambling off of me as Beck hauls Matt up and throws him to the ground. Beck falls down on Matt, fists flying at Matt’s face as he cries out and tries to speak.

Anna lunges toward the open door. Adrian glares down at her, blocking her exit. She rails at him, trying to leave—to no avail. Behind Adrian, Mike and Jax appear, then Kieran.

I sit up and tug down my dress, watching Beck through tear-blurred eyes. His fists are covered in blood. Matt’s face looks completely destroyed. It’s as if he’s either given up or is unconscious, only making these low groaning noises every time Beck’s fists make another impact.

Mike spares his brother a glance before he steps around Anna and over to me. He kneels down, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Low?” he whispers.

A sob catches in my throat and I bury my face in my knees. I shake my head.

“We didn’t do anything to her!” Anna yells, shoving at Adrian’s chest.

Jax scowls murderously at her, straightening to his full height and gripping her forearm with bruising fingers. “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?”

Kieran fumbles along the wall and flicks on the equipment room light. When I peek at him through my fingers, his face is grim and furious. “I’ll call the cops.”

Beck shoves away from Matt’s prone form, hands bloodied. His chest heaves and he turns on Anna, ripping her out of Jax’s grasp. “Was this your plan? Huh?” He shakes her harshly.

Anna’s face crumples. She has the audacity to cry after what she just tried to do to me. “I just love you so much…”

Beck bellows, “Fuck you!” in her face. He brings his already bloody hand up and slaps her, sending her flying backward to the ground. Anna starts blubbering immediately.

Grim satisfaction numbly registers. If anyone deserves to get hit right now, it’s her.

Mike cautiously puts a hand on my shoulder. “Harlow?”

I shiver, arms wrapped around myself. Mike wraps his arms around me, bringing me to his chest. He stands with me cradled against him. I bury my face in his neck and try to stop crying.

Why am I crying still?

“Take her outside,” Beck orders. A gentle hand passes over the back of my head as Mike moves toward the door. I know it belongs to Beck. 

“What is going on in here?” I hear Principal Edwards demand.

I almost want to laugh. _Of course_ , she chooses right now to show up.

I start crying again into Mike’s collar instead.

***********

“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested,” Dad says lowly, glaring daggers at me. He has his arms crossed and is standing next to Principal Edwards.

I shrug. “He was trying to rape Harlow. _Rape_ her, Dad.” I’ll never regret beating the shit out of Dahmer. Never.

Principal Edwards clears her throat. “As much as I discourage physical violence on school grounds, I believe Beckett acted appropriately, Bryant.” Dad looks at her in surprise. She offers me a quiet smile. “Matthew’s behavior was absolutely unacceptable.”

I swallow thickly, glancing at the time on my phone. The guys took Harlow home over an hour ago, back when everyone else left. Homecoming was put to an end the minute the cops showed up.

Matt got arrested. So did Anna. While I doubt that Anna will stay in jail even overnight because of her dad’s influence, Matt’s not getting out of anything.

The memory of what I found, how he was completely on top of Harlow while those horrible girls held her down in the dark… It makes me angry enough that I could easily kill Matt. I’m lucky I didn’t _actually_ kill him, though.

While Dad was able to show up quickly enough to persuade the officers to not arrest me—according to Mr. Reputable Attorney, I was acting in _self-defense_ —I could still be facing criminal charges. If Matt even has the balls to press charges after what he did to Harlow.

The fucker was crying when he got handcuffed. Pussy.

I want nothing more than to go home already. Mike and Adrian reassured me that they’d take care of Harlow until I got home, but I need to see her for myself. She was almost sexually assaulted tonight.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to make it better. How am I supposed to ever make her feel safe again? Matt was supposed to be a decent guy. Hell, even I would have never thought he would do something like this.

It’s monstrous. Unforgiveable.

The sight of Harlow’s tears, the sounds of her sobs, made me see red with rage. I don’t even remember making the conscious decision to beat the living shit out of Matt. I just kind of… acted.

While Harlow cried.

Leslie and Cara weren’t arrested tonight, but they were sent home with their parents. Apparently, they’ll face criminal charges as well. I hope they get more than probation. As if _that_ will fix anything.

Dad speaks quietly to Principal Edwards and the last remaining police officers for a moment. Then, he claps me on the shoulder and leads me to the Porsche.

When we’re in the car, on the way home, he says, “I’m proud of you.”

I glance at him in surprise. “For what?”

He barks out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t feel like it was appropriate to congratulate you in front of Principal Edwards.” He meets my eyes for a fleeting moment, pride shining in his grey gaze. “What you did for Harlow was… it was good, kid.”

I swallow thickly, staring down at my busted knuckles. “I could kill Matt.”

“I might help you, if I see that bastard,” Dad mutters.

I inhale deeply. “Fair enough.”

Dad chuckles grimly. “Let’s go make sure Harlow’s okay.”

As much as I may hope that she’ll be able to move on from what happened tonight, I don’t think she’ll be anywhere near fine. Not for a long time.


	21. You Can Take It Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM LIVING FOR THIS STORY RIGHT NOW!!!! *cackles in a way that's lowkey unhinged but whatever*
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

I want to stab Matt Dahmer in the balls. I’m fine—I swear I am—but I would still feel better if he got castrated. And if Anna Atkinson fell off a bridge and died. Either option works well for me.

The last two hours have been hazy. I remember Mike carrying me out of the equipment room and taking me to sit in a more well-lit part of the school—I think it was the entrance near the lockers. I remember a female cop asking me questions, and then answering her through numb lips.

_Can you identify by name everyone who was in the equipment room with you?_ Those three bitches and Matt mother-fucking Dahmer.

_Where did he touch you?_ Nowhere important.

_I know this might be difficult to answer, but do we need to perform a Rape Kit?_ I wasn’t raped, so no. Leave me the hell alone, lady.

I made sure that _everyone_ knew Matt didn’t actually rape me. Sure, he scared the shit out of me, and Anna implied that she wanted him to do _things_ to me. But nothing actually happened.

Mike looked nauseous sitting with me through the questioning. He offered to leave multiple times, but I let him stay. I didn’t want to be alone with a cop, and my mom never showed up at the school. Bryant said she was at the house when he got the call, and she didn’t want to drive this late at night.

As if driving for half an hour to comfort your daughter after a traumatic incident is _burdensome_.

As if she simply didn’t care that I’m _barely_ a legal adult, and while I can technically be questioned by the cops without a guardian present, it doesn’t mean I’m _okay_ with it.

Bryant offered to stay with me during questioning, but I waved him off when he heard that some cops were trying to arrest Beck. His kid is more important. I completely understand.

And while Mike may not have been my first choice, he helped the process go quickly. He made sure we left even before Matt and Anna were escorted out in handcuffs.

I feel gross. I took a shower as soon as I got back to the house with the guys. Jax and Mike sent their prospective girlfriends home; Jamie made sure I’d be fine without her—so sweet, so unnecessary—and stayed at school at the dorms.

When we left, Bryant was still advocating for Beck so that the idiot didn’t get arrested. I swear, if he gets arrested because of me, I’m going to have to kick his ass. While I agree with beating the shit out of Matt, Beck doesn’t need to get a criminal record for some stupid shit that I caused.

Logically, I know that I didn’t force Matt and Anna to do what they did. But I did make the conscious decision to follow Matt into a dark storage room, even after I was told to stay with the guys tonight. I made the decision to not let anyone know where I was going. I just kind of…. went along with it.

To be fair, I think I was in shock earlier. I mean, I just figured out that Mike and Adrian are fucking _gay_. For each other.

I don’t even want to think about how I’m going to bring that topic up. Delicately, or not at all?

And while I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m actually responsible for Anna and Matt’s actions, I do think that I contributed to my own victimization. Just a little bit.

Still. Matt Dahmer and Anna Atkinson deserve to rot in prison.

I highly doubt that they’ll _actually_ even get jail time—let alone hardcore prison time—but they still deserve to fucking suffer.

I should’ve reported Anna to the police way back when she chopped all my hair off. I think that by not getting into trouble for that, she figured that she was invincible when it comes to tormenting me.

But employing Matt’s help to try to _sexually assault_ me? That’s going too far.

The hair thing was assault, sure. But to make her cronies hold me down while Matt….

The bastard stole my first kiss.

It was supposed to be special, supposed to be given to the guy of my _choosing_.

And he just fucking took it, like it didn’t matter, like it was _his_ to take.

I’m not okay with that. I feel violated, betrayed, like I am so fucking stupid for valuing something that most people get when they’re in middle school.

But I kind of wanted my first kiss to happen just a little differently—you know, _not_ in a dark equipment storage room while I’m being held down by the three bitches I want to cut the _most_.

And definitely _not_ by Matt Dahmer.

I curl up in bed and hug my knees to my chest, listening to Mom pleading with me to open the door outside my room. Her voice sounds…. off. I would bet anything that she’s intoxicated right now. 

I locked myself in my room when I got home. I know that the guys are all downstairs, waiting for Bryant and Beck to get back.

If Beck even comes back at all. If he doesn’t spend the night in a jail cell.

I don’t have the energy to cry anymore, though. I just want to sleep.

And so, I do. Or I try to, anyway.

**********

When I get home with Dad, exhaustion pulls at my shoulders and strains my neck. My fucking knuckles are busted and my wrist throbs from where I must’ve over-rotated it when connecting my fist with Matt’s stupid fucking face.

Traitorous piece of garbage.

The guys are all sitting in the living room upstairs when Dad and I walk into the house. They’re tense and quiet, looking anxiously toward the stairs.

Upstairs, I can hear Rachel talking in a slurred voice. It sounds like she’s asking to be let into a room or something.

I sigh and sit down on the couch beside Kieran, rubbing a hand over my face. “Where’s Harlow?”

“She’s in her room. Ran up there and locked the door as soon as we got here,” Mike mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Dad frowns. “And you guys just let her lock herself in? She went through something traumatic tonight—she needs to be monitored.”

“She’s not going to fucking kill herself.” I groan. “She probably just wants some time alone.”

A part of me wants to go forcefully open her door, though. I want to make sure she’s okay, see with my own eyes that Matt didn’t hurt her more than she let on.

“I never said she would try to, Beck.” Dad leans against the wall near the stairs. He looks exhausted. I know that he has some major case coming up, which explains why he’s been at work so much lately.

It doesn’t explain why Rachel couldn’t get her fucking ass up to Laurier tonight. “Why didn’t Rachel come?” I scowl as Rachel’s voice gets louder upstairs.

Dad bites his lip. “She came home from work early. Got an Uber.”

Mike’s eyes narrow. “She wasn’t there when Harlow was getting questioned. She should’ve been there.” I know that he’s the one who stayed with Harlow. I’ve never been more grateful for the good man that my little brother has grown into. I’m so goddamn proud of him.

“I know.” Dad looks angry about it too, which surprises me. Lately, he’s always on his girlfriend’s side about everything. Maybe he’s not as brainwashed as I thought. “When I called her on my way from work, though…” A sudden _bang_ upstairs makes everyone jerk and stare toward the staircase. Dad makes a frustrated sound and starts walking up the steps. “I think she was drunk when I called her earlier.”

I meet Adrian’s eyes. He looks angry—angrier than I’ve ever seen him, actually. He stands, and I follow him when he heads toward the stairs.

“She better not be terrorizing Harlow,” Adrian says through gritted teeth. Anything he starts to say is cut off.

“Go away!” Harlow yells, a door slamming immediately afterward. What the _fuck_?

All of the guys rise from their seats, following me as I bolt up the stairs. On the second floor, down the wing where all the guest bedrooms are, Rachel is ramming her fist against the closed door of Harlow’s room.

Her words are slurring together, eyes glassy. “Lemme in. We ca’ talk ‘bout it.” She hiccups.

Dad is standing next to her, trying to stop her from banging on the door. “Let’s just go upstairs for a while, Rach. Harlow might want to go to sleep.”

“No!” Rachel moans. “She’s my kid, not yours.” She pokes Dad in his chest, before she kicks at the door. “Harlow! Lemme in…”

“She needs to go somewhere else,” I hiss, hands curling into fists. Pain radiates throughout my knuckles, but I use it to dull the edge of my anger. I don’t need to explode again tonight.

Dad’s eyes are pissed off when he meets my gaze. I instantly know that he’s not mad at _me,_ though. “If I take her upstairs, would you try to talk to Harlow? We need to make sure she’s okay.”

I nod silently.

Dad wraps an arm around Rachel’s middle, guiding her away from the door. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“No…” Rachel weakly protests, before she allows Dad to guide her away. “Do you have any more Merlot?”

They squeeze past me and the guys. The reek of alcohol coming off of Rachel makes me wince. She’s seen the bottom of more than one bottle tonight. Bet.

“What a fucking bitch.” Adrian scowls after them when they disappear up the stairs leading to the third floor, voice shaking.

I pat his shoulder. “You can go home if you don’t want to be here right now, man. We won’t hold it against you.” Adrian has problems with being around drunk people. Hell, I would too, if my dad continually got drunk and careless like Rick Mitchel does whenever he’s not working out of state.

Adrian shakes his head, though. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He heads back toward the stairs, Mike hot on his heels.

Jax’s face is grim as he stares at Harlow’s door. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to help her right now.”

Kieran’s head jerks in a nod. “Short of disemboweling Dahmer, I don’t know how we’ll be of any use.” I’m almost surprised at the fury in his voice. Kieran is always calm, almost expressionless. I didn’t think he cared about Harlow so much.

I swallow thickly. “You guys can head down too. I’ll wait and see if she opens her door, I guess.” The last thing I want to do is put more pressure on Harlow tonight.

***********

I’m sitting on my bed, blanket thrown over my head and knees pulled up to my chest, when the soft knock on the door comes. I ignore it, figuring it’s Mom trying to get in again.

I’m pretty sure she’s completely trashed. Explains why she couldn’t drive the SUV to Laurier tonight.

It’s almost funny, the fact that she chose to get wasted on the _one_ night that I might actually need my mom. Figures.

I’m tired. I tried sleeping, but Mom wouldn’t leave me alone. I finally got fed up with her whining, slurred voice and opened the door to yell at her.

It’s been quiet out in the hallway for a while. Until the knock at the door.

“Low?” a low voice says. Beck. “You don’t need to open the door, but I just want to make sure you’re…. that you’re, you know… okay?” He laughs bitterly. “Never mind. That sounded stupid—”

At his voice, I throw the blanket off and lunge toward the door. I hastily unlock it and pull it open. Beck stares at me in surprise as I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I’m glad you didn’t get arrested,” I mumble into the fabric of his shirt. The moisture on my hair from the shower is probably leaving a damp mark on his button-up. I don’t care.

Beck hesitantly wraps his arms around me. “Are you doing all right?”

I pause for a moment before I nod slowly. “I’m cool. Everything’s fine.” I don’t pull away from him, not wanting to show him my face.

Beck tries to pull back anyway, straining his neck to look at me. “But are you sure—”

“I’m fine,” I mutter shortly. I pull out of his arms, backing away into my dark room. The light of the hallway casts a yellow hue over my bed and desk. I move robotically to sit on my bed.

Beck follows me into the room, warily reaching over to the desk to flick on the lamp. He hovers near my desk. “It’s okay if you’re _not_ okay, Low.” His voice is still low, so careful.

His hair is messy, like he’s run his fingers through the gelled black mass. I refuse to meet his eyes, pulling a blanket over my lap. I’m wearing sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Nothing too revealing. Still, a shiver races up and down my spine as Beck takes a seat on my desk chair. I focus my gaze on his hands, which rest on his knees. His knuckles are destroyed, every one of them split and bruised. I swallow. “You should put a Band-Aid or something on your hands.”

Beck says dismissively, “I’m fine. Harlow,” he starts, ducking down to meet my eyes. His gaze is dark, as always. A new emotion exists in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He looks worried, completely stressed out. Almost as if he could cry or something.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I interrupt him before he can pry any further. My fingers pull at a loose thread on the blanket in my lap. I grabbed it without thinking, but it’s a quilt that Dad gave me years ago. It has a faded pattern of a bear on it. I think he once told me it belonged to his mom or something. My grandma. I’ve never met her. She died before I was born, like my paternal grandpa and both of Mom’s parents.

I know that my mind is wandering, but is this the only thing left of Grandma now? If anything existed of her that Dad kept, Mom probably threw it out along with everything else of Dad’s. Or sold it.

I inhale shakily and change the subject. “Anna got arrested?”

Beck nods, eyeing me carefully. “Both she and Matt did. Edwards said that all of then—Leslie and Cara included—are getting expelled. You won’t have to worry about them again.”

“That’s good, I guess. They probably won’t actually get in that much trouble, though. Criminally, I mean.”

“Low…” Beck trails off. “I want to tell you that they’ll be thrown in prison, but they’ll probably all get probation—if that. Leslie and Cara will probably only get community service.”

I sigh. “I know. Matt didn’t really do anything that would qualify as actual assault, so…”

“What he did was fucked up.” Beck scowls, a muscle in his jaw popping. “I should’ve punched him a few more times.”

My laugh sounds sharp and foreign. “I wish I had joined in.”

Beck sobers. “We could probably figure out a way to sneak into the jail right now. I could hold him down while you kick his ass.”

I tap my chin in mock-thought, feeling marginally better to have a distraction. “I kind of want to test out my curb-stomping capabilities….”

Beck snorts. His mouth tugs downward and his eyes gaze into mine for a long time. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he whispers.

A lump rises in my throat. I cough out a half-hearted laugh, eyes stinging. “I already told you—”

“I know you did.” Beck sighs in frustration. “I’m probably the last person you want to talk to about this, but since your mom is being useless…” That muscle pops in his jaw again.

“Why is she drunk?” I whisper. “What could have possibly possessed her to drink tonight?”

“She’s selfish, Low.” Beck scoots toward the bed, so that our knees barely touch. He peers up into my face. “Rachel is a real piece of work.”

My vision blurs a little and I blink quickly, looking away. “Yeah…”

“Dahmer didn’t… he didn’t, like, _touch_ you, right?” Beck trains his eyes on his lap, voice stilted and awkward.

“He didn’t do anything like _that_.” I clear my throat.

Beck nudges my knee with his bruised hand. “What did he do, Low? How can I make it better?”

My breath catches. “He just—goddammit, I’m stupid.” I wave a hand. Beck doesn’t need to know that tonight was the first time I’ve ever kissed anyone. He’ll just laugh at me.

Beck’s dark eyes raise. “Tell me what he did.”

I shrug, bringing the blanket up to my mouth. “He kind of… kissed me. It was gross.”

Beck’s shoulders sag. I hadn’t realized they were tense. “Is that all?”

“I mean, Anna slapped me around a little. Nothing unusual.” I bark out a laugh. It’s humorless. My vision blurs as I stare at the blanket. “I don’t know why I feel like—” I break off, shaking my head.

“What do you feel like?” Beck asks softly.

I’m stupid because I’m seriously debating just telling him. Oh, what the hell? It’s not like Beck doesn’t already think I’m a dumbass, so…

“I’ve never kissed anyone else before,” I whisper, not meeting his eyes. “I feel like he _stole_ that from me or something.” I laugh bitterly. “Forget I told you that—I sound completely stupid—”

“You’re not stupid,” Beck interrupts firmly. I peek up at him. His eyes are serious, mouth set determinedly. “And it’s okay to feel upset about what he did. What they _all_ did tonight, Harlow. If you wanted your first kiss to be with someone else, that’s a valid wish to have. Matt Dahmer, of all people, should not have gotten your first kiss. He didn’t deserve to take what he did.”

I stare at him as my vision blurs. I don’t think I could speak right now if I tried.

“And,” Beck starts hesitantly, scooting forward so that his knees bracken mine on the outside, “you don’t have to give him your first kiss.” He leans closer, so that his face is near mine. His eyes are so serious, so troubled, as he whispers, “You could take it back.”

My eyes flicker between his in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Beck’s tongue darts out and runs over his bottom lip. A small furrow forms between his brows. “I mean…” His breath ghosts over my cheekbones, so similar and yet so different to what happened with Matt earlier. I shiver. “I could give you a _real_ first kiss. A better one. One that won’t be _tainted_ by Dahmer.”

“You don’t even like me, though,” I protest in a whisper, eyes flicking down to his lips. His bottom lip is full, flushed from his teeth pressing on the middle of it.

Beck hums, head tilting. “That’s not necessarily true…” His lips quirk. “I mean, you can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes…”

I silent laugh escapes my mouth.

Beck’s dark eyes grow serious again. “Let me do this for you, Low. I’ll make it better.”

And damn it all to hell, but I nod, this slow tilt of my head, eyes fixated on his mouth, his eyes.

Beck scoots forward more and closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in the sweetest kiss. It feels innocent, and gentle. Perfect.

When Beck makes a low noise in his throat and the pressure against my mouth increases, I don’t know what to do. I go along with it, though, leaning into him as his lips move against mine, opening slightly.

When the hint of his tongue brushes against my bottom lip, I squeak and jerk my head away, hand coming up to cover my mouth.

I shoot him a look. “What was _that_?”

And Beck—damn him— _laughs._ This full, joyous sound that makes my cheeks burn and the back of my neck feel hot.

“ _That_ ,” Beck starts, leaning in so that his face is close to mine again. His eyes have a light to them that I’ve never seen before. His grin is intoxicating. “ _That_ was your first kiss, short stuff.” Then he has the audacity to ruffle my hair, looking for all the world proud of himself.

And damn him, because the memory of his lips on mine, that hint of his _tongue_ , makes my heart race and my brain short-circuit.

I’m so screwed. So totally, completely screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it only took 21 chapters to get here??? So..... LMAO


	22. Oh, How the Turntables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms can suck my massive, nonexistent dick. This has been my TED talk.
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

In hindsight, maybe kissing Harlow after the traumatic night she had on Friday wasn’t such a good idea. I don’t regret it, necessarily, but I just think that I could’ve _not_ kissed a girl who was emotionally distressed, you know?

And I don’t know if it’s the kiss or if I said something offensive, but she won’t talk to me much now. She’s hidden out in her room all weekend, basically avoiding everyone. She doesn’t have a choice but to talk to me, though.

I’m going to make sure that she’s not mad at me. I mean, it was just a first kiss—and a damn good one, if I can have an opinion.

Harlow’s lips are so soft. She kissed me like she was afraid of me, like she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. It was cute. A small part of me is curious to find out how she’ll kiss once she gets a little more comfortable in her own skin.

Dangerous train of thought.

It’s the Monday after homecoming. I was right—Anna didn’t even stay in jail until Saturday morning. Matt also got out on Friday night—I’m pretty sure his parents, who are wealthy owners of a ski resort down in Aspen, had dealings with Judge Atkinson.

All four of them—Matt, Anna, Leslie, and Cara—got expelled from Laurier. Matt and Anna are apparently going to Vail Public High School for the rest of the year; Leslie’s parents are shipping her out to some posh girls’ academy in Texas and Cara is being homeschooled.

For Harlow’s sake, I’m glad she won’t have to deal with them.

From an ethical standpoint, the prospect that none of them will be punished for what they tried to do angers me so much I almost can’t think.

I want to kill Matt Dahmer. I would kill Anna too—I don’t give a shit that I’ve known the bitch since grade school.

They’re evil. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate those four people right now.

And I’m pretty sure that up until a few weeks ago, Rachel Pace was at the top of my shit list.

… Thinking back on it, I think I’ll reserve a spot for Rachel at the top still.

She’s a whole issue on her own.

***********

If someone came up to me and offered to throw me off a bridge, I would take them up on that offer right about now. Just put me out of my misery already.

I can’t face Beck. I can’t look at his stupid, handsome face and not remember the feel of his lips against mine, the soft way he exhaled right before his tongue ran over my lower lip. I can’t casually talk to him without remembering the way his pupils were blown wide when he leaned away from the kiss, the way that he laughed afterward.

The way that he ruffled my hair, as if I’m a kid. As if he was just doing me a _favor_.

Son of a bitch.

I thought I was done with the deep confessions pertaining to Beckett Harper and his stupid fucking hair that I want to run my fingers through. I mean, I already swallowed my massive pride and admitted that I think he’s attractive—what the fuck else does the universe want from me?

Apparently, a whole hell of a lot more.

I can already feel a hopeless crush forming, this warm parasite of a thing buzzing around in my stomach whenever I hear Beck’s voice or make eye contact with him—which I’ve been avoiding at all costs. Hell, when I walked past him this morning to get into the SUV, I smelled his cologne and almost combusted on the spot.

I think my cheeks are permanently red at this point. My face feels constantly hot, my mind fuzzy and far away.

I dreamed of Beck’s lips last night. Kill me now. It was this elaborate dream about Beck kissing me again, but only this time, he took things further. We were still in my room, and he pushed me back on the bed and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe, until I had become well acquainted with his tongue.

And let me tell you, Dream Beck’s tongue is skilled.

If I didn’t think I would descend straight to hell for it, I probably would have used that dream as motivation for some _personal time_.

I have to be careful, though. I will never be able to speak to Beck again if I let things get too out of hand. _Hand_.

Ha. Shoot me.

Forget Matt and Anna—Beck is the cruelest man alive to me right now. How dare he kiss me so sweetly, tease me with a hint of what _else_ he could do with his mouth, and then just pull away and act like everything is completely normal?

Because he’s been trying really hard to not acknowledge the Matt-sized elephant in the room when I’m around. The rest of the guys have been tense all morning, greeting me hesitantly in the SUV, as if they were afraid I would spontaneously start sobbing or something.

I have plans to corner Adrian and Mike soon. I just need to figure out how to selectively forget that Beckett Harper _kissed_ me first.

No biggie.

All of the adults in my life have proven useless recently. Since Friday, Bryant is the only adult who has treated me normally; it may have to do with the fact that he deals with people who’ve gone through bad shit for a living—what with being a criminal defense attorney and all—but he has somehow managed to treat the situation delicately without making me feel like I’m incapable of coping on my own.

The guys are unable to do that. As are all of my teachers and Principal Edwards.

This morning, Principal Edwards found me before school in the library. I think she was trying to be nice and make sure I’m okay, but the way she approached me just made me uncomfortable. She sat down at my table in the library and tried to engage me in bullshit small-talk— _How are you feeling today? It sure is snowy outside. Do you enjoy skiing?_

When I only responded with little elaboration, she got the hint. She ended up finally leaving me alone with an awkward hug and a comment that I can always _talk_ to her about anything.

I know that it’s her job to care for her students, but it was too weird. I don’t really know her enough to _talk_ to her about anything—let alone about the mess of emotions that I’ve been feeling all weekend.

Honestly, though, I’m more affected by Beck’s kiss than Matt’s. Maybe something is fucked up with my head—maybe I’m projecting something psychologically or disassociating from my problems. Isn’t avoiding your problems a sign of mental trauma or something? I don’t know.

I really feel all right, though. Sure, I cried on Friday night and a little bit on Saturday. Sure, I’ve showered a lot and have taken to sleeping with a light on because the darkness of my room reminds me of the darkness in the equipment room.

But I feel like those are normal things that people do to cope. I think I’m doing all right, all things considered.

And it’s not like I’ve had much help. Bryant, as nice as he’s been recently, isn’t my dad. My mom has been useless overall; I’m positive that she was trashed on Friday and most of Saturday. I heard her and Bryant arguing last night for over an hour upstairs, but I don’t want to know what that was about.

And the guys have been relatively unhelpful as well. I don’t think a single one of them has spoken normally to me all day. They avoided the house all weekend too. It’s like they don’t know how to treat me now, and it sucks.

“How’s your lunch, Harlow?” Adrian barely meets my eyes when he addresses me. Instead, he trains his eyes on his lunch tray, pushing around French fries as if they’re the most interesting things on the goddamn planet.

I grit my teeth. I’m not fucking made of glass. “Fine.” I scoot my chair back, picking up my tray. I’ve had enough of the tense silence at the lunch table. No one will even acknowledge me, and when they do, they speak to me like I’m going to fucking break if they say anything remotely difficult to comprehend.

Safe topics only, my ass.

Matt Dahmer kissed me. That’s all. Yeah, it was fucking gross. And yeah, if I ever see the douchebag again, I have plans to knock his front teeth in.

But he didn’t break me. He didn’t even fracture me.

I know that the guys are just trying to be sensitive and shit, but they’re treating me like I’m a child—no, more like a _victim_.

Beck seems to be the only one who can even speak to me normally right now, but I don’t want to talk to him. Those stupid eyes of his, that goddamn hair—

I’ll be damned if Matt Dahmer _broke_ me. Fuck that shit.

“Where are you going?” Jax demands, sitting straight. He’s been pushing around his lunch too, which is completely at odds with his usual method of shoving anything remotely edible into his fat fucking face.

I scowl and let my eyes meet each of the guys’—save for Beck’s. “I’m tired of you idiots acting like I’m going to start blubbering for no reason. It’s getting old.”

Adrian’s brow furrows, his blue eyes confused. “We didn’t mean to make you feel like that… We just don’t want to make anything harder for you right now—”

“I’m fine!” My eyes meet Beck’s for a split-second. He nods encouragingly. “I don’t understand why everyone is treating me like I’ve suffered through something traumatic!”

“But you kind of have, Low,” Mike says softly, dark eyes understanding. “It’s okay to not be one-hundred percent after what happened on Friday—”

“Shut the fuck up.” I say it quietly, lowly. I know I’m glaring at Mike, and I know that he really doesn’t deserve my anger. But fuck—I’m _mad_ at him. Both him and Adrian. He doesn’t get to lecture me after lying to me for months.

And I know that it’s technically none of my business that he and Adrian are gay together. Collectively. I just need someone to blame, to vent at for a while.

Subject selected, I guess.

“Low,” Beck starts, glancing between me and his brother.

I move my half-eaten tray to one hand, waving Beck off with the other. “I don’t need any of your pity,” I direct to all of them. “Friday night sucked ass, and Matt and Anna can rot in hell for all I care, but if all of you are going to treat me like some fragile fucking doll—”

Jax protests, “We never said you were fragile—”

“But the way you’ve been acting has implied it!” I grind my teeth, cheeks flushing. “I’m done with this conversation.” I spin on my heel and storm to the racks of used trays, plopping mine down and then bursting out of the cafeteria.

Vaguely, I know that other students are watching me leave. I think everyone in this stupid little town knows what happened at homecoming. News travels fast when the only thing to do in your free time is ski and pay taxes.

“Harlow!” Adrian calls behind me.

I hear his footfalls on my heels and speed up. “Leave me alone!”

“No.” Adrian grabs my elbow and halts me when we’ve reached the hallway leading to the Fine Arts classrooms. Adrian finally meets my eyes fully, chest heaving as he catches his breath. His brown hair is mussed, bangs haphazardly falling into his eyes. “Where’d you learn to run so fast?”

I yank my arm away, muttering, “Was raised by ninjas. Jaguar genetics.”

Adrian coughs a laugh, mustering up a tense smile. “I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel bad.”

I swallow. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I start walking again, intent on finding an empty stairwell and hiding out until lunch is over.

Adrian keeps pace with me. “Seriously. We just aren’t sure how to react to what happened on Friday. I mean,” Adrian swallows thickly, voice lowering, “you were _crying_ when we found you, Low.”

I take a deep breath. “I know that I’m not really being fair to you guys. I just don’t need you to walk on eggshells around me right now, okay? I have enough shit going on without you guys treating me differently.”

Such as my mom, Matt mother-fucking Dahmer, Beckett Harper’s stupid, glorious lips.

Adrian nods. “That’s completely understandable. I’ll make sure the guys know to knock their shit off.” He nudges me with his shoulder, grinning. “Besides, you can’t seriously think that we would be able to be _nice_ for much longer.”

I laugh. “You guys _are_ major assholes.”

Adrian tries to mess up my hair teasingly. “You little—”

“Oh, how sweet. Scholarship and the Charity Case are together,” a voice jeers from one of the open Art classrooms. Eric Prescott steps out into the hallway in front of us, crew cut gelled enough to shine. I would bet anything that his hair is stiffer than concrete, what with all the gunk in it.

Colt Anson steps out of the classroom behind Eric, cheeks dotted with acne and curly blond hair tangled around his head. He snorts a laugh, this hitched thing that resembles the sound a pig would make. Or a donkey. “Good one, Eric.” They high-five.

Eric leans against the wall, glancing over us. His lip curls. “I guess that since Dahmer’s gone, you’ve moved on to _another_ football bitch.”

A scowl turns down the corners of my mouth. “Screw you, Eric.” Turning to Adrian, who is stock-still, I say, “Let’s go.”

Colt moves to stand in our way, arms crossing over his skinny chest. He glares at me. “We need to have words, Charity.” His lip twitches meanly. “Or should I say _Chastity_?” He and Eric laugh, these honking sounds that grate on my ears.

And my nerves.

“Fuck off, Donkey Boy,” I spit, trying to shove around Colt.

He hisses and blocks my path, Eric moving to block the other side of the hallway. “What did you just call me?”

The inside joke—with myself—doesn’t need explanation. I back up into Adrian, who makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat.

Adrian wraps an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t have time for your bullshit, guys. Lunch ends soon.”

Eric scoffs, reaching a finger up to run over his eyebrow. His eyes, blue and dull, are angry as he says to me, “You’re the reason Matt got arrested. Good riddance.” He steps closer, Adrian guiding me backward in return. “But you fucked with the wrong person the minute you involved Atkinson.”

I frown. “Anna’s the one who involved _herself_!”

“She would never bother with someone like you, bitch!” Colt shoves a finger at me. A pimple on his forehead is oozing a less-than-appetizing fluid. Nasty.

Adrian laughs darkly next to me. “Anna isn’t as innocent as you want to believe, Anson. She deserves so much worse than what she got.”

“Either way,” Eric interrupts, mouth in a firm line. “Now that Dahmer and Atkinson are gone, this school is ours.” His lips spread, showing off yellowed teeth. “You’d better watch your back, Scholarship.”

He and Colt back away down the hall, laughing mockingly and making comments about Adrian that I don’t acknowledge. I peek at Adrian, noticing that his hands are balled into fists at his side. A horrible flush has risen to his cheeks, eyes downcast as if in shame.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “They’re stupid. Don’t listen to them.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He’s back to not looking at me, lips pressed together. “Let’s go,” he mutters, turning to go back down the hall the way we came. “The guys are probably looking for us.”

I watch him walk away a few paces in silence. “Adrian?” I finally utter.

He stills. Facing away from me, he asks, “What?” His voice is tired, almost defeated.

I frown and close the distance between us, rounding to stand in front of him. I force him to meet my eyes. He almost looks like he could cry. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, raising a hand to his cheek without thinking.

Adrian blinks quickly, tearing his glassy eyes away. “Nothing.” He moves around me down the hall, this time lengthening his stride to move quicker.

I keep pace with him. There’s no way in hell that he’s going to start ignoring me again. “Adrian!” I exclaim, trying to catch up to him.

Damn his long legs.

He ignores me, walking quickly past the rows of lockers, then toward the cafeteria door. I speed up in an attempt to stop him, to make him _talk_ to me, but end up tripping over my own feet. I stumble and catch my fall on the palms of my hands, wincing as my knees bang into the tiled floor.

“Ow. Damn clunky shoes.” I sit back and rub at my palms. The worst part of Laurier’s uniforms are the shoes. Fucking 1950’s pieces of shit.

Adrian, noticing that I’m no longer following him, turns around. “Low! Are you okay?” He squats down next to me, examining my hands.

I sigh and stand. “I’m fine.” My eyes narrow on Adrian’s. “You don’t get to avoid me every time you don’t want to answer a question. It’s not cool.”

He scuffs his shoe against the floor, head jerking sharply in a nod. “Sorry.”

A memory hits me from when I first started attending Laurier. “You avoided me when I started going here too. You were totally fine when I moved here, but after my first day of school, you totally ghosted me.”

Adrian bites his lip, looking up and down the hallway. Lunch will end in a few minutes, and soon the hall will be filled with students. He says, “I would rather not talk about this here.”

I nod slowly. “After school then.” I point at him. “You’re not getting out of it this time.”

He nods, eyes flitting away from mine. “Got it.”

Feeling better that he won’t avoid me again, I relax. Then I remember the fact that he blatantly lied to my face about helping Mike cheat on Natalie, when in reality _Adrian_ was the one cheating with Mike, and I scowl. “And I have another bone to pick with you later too.” I storm past him, back into the cafeteria.

Behind me, Adrian asks, “What do you mean?”

I ignore him, like he did to me all those weeks ago.

Serves you right, prick.

***********

Adrian is silent the entire ride home from school. He and all the guys are staying over at the Harpers’ house tonight. I guess Jax is failing one of his classes and needs help studying or something, so all of them are going to “motivate” him tonight for an important test he has in the morning.

Who wants to bet that they’ll end up playing video games and _not_ studying before eight o’clock?

I’m merciful, allowing Adrian to sit down at the kitchen table with the guys for an hour after we get home. Mostly, I give him some time because I need to shower and avoid Beck at all costs—but he doesn’t need to know that last part.

When I’m freshly showered and have changed into comfortable clothes, I head back downstairs. In the kitchen, Mike and Kieran are tossing potato chips at each other across the dining table. Beck is leaning over Jax’s shoulder, writing on his notebook and explaining something that sounds too complicated for me to understand.

No wonder Jax is struggling academically. I swear, Laurier is trying to make all of us into astrophysicists or some shit. That’s funny. Have they _met_ me?

The only astro that I’m going to physicist is Beckett Harper’s ass.

Maybe that didn’t come out right…

Adrian is messing around with his phone, totally _not_ busy at all. Convenient.

I smile brightly at him when he notices me hovering in the doorway. “Ready for our _talk_?”

He swallows, anxiously glancing around the table. “Uh… I think Jax might need my help, so—”

“I don’t need your help.” Jax frowns, clueless. “Beck is better at O-chem than you are, anyway.”

Adrian flushes, hissing, “But you _really_ need my help, right, Jackson?” He widens his eyes pointedly at Jax.

Jax shakes his head, guiltless. “Beck’s doing fine.”

The poor soul just doesn’t get it. Lucky for me. I say, “It’ll only take a few minutes. Don’t be a wimp.”

Adrian starts to protest, but Mike interrupts him. He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Why do you need to talk to Adrian? I didn’t know you guys were so _close_.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Oh, how badly I wish I could say something along the lines of _You two are closer._ I try to be a decent human being, though, so I say through gritted teeth, “We just need to talk—”

“Go, Adrian,” Beck orders, barely glancing up from Jax’s notebook. “You can help when you get back.” His dark hair is messy, wavy from not being washed after football practice. It’s grown out, the tips of his hair brushing the middle of his ears and the tops of his cheekbones.

Don’t ask me how I know this, but I know that he’ll shower later. I wonder what he looks like when he showers, what kind of soap he uses. Is he thorough? I’ll bet he’s _really_ thorough—

I swallow and train my eyes on Adrian. “Let’s go.” I dart out of the kitchen, cheeks hot.

That was a close one. Ever since I read that book Jamie gave me, my mind has been in the gutter. Wouldn’t want to think too much about Beck showering while he’s in the same room. Those thoughts are dangerous, because they always end up with me imagining other things that could happen in the shower, whether Beck would be partial to doing those things with _me_ in the shower—

Phew. Almost lost my _cool_ there.

Adrian follows me to the basement. I sit on the couch, patting the spot next to me, which he takes, albeit reluctantly.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Do we really need to do this—”

“Yes,” I interrupt him. “We really, _really_ do.” He’s quiet, so I continue, “Why did you avoid me after my first day at Laurier?” I don’t want to admit it, but it’s been bothering me a lot. I thought he hated me for a long time. It wasn’t cool.

Adrian meets my eyes, a small grimace on his face. He inhales deeply, muttering, “Fuck.” He swallows. “Okay, so I know that I probably seem like a total asshole for saying this—”

“Don’t worry. I already think all of you are assholes—”

“But I just kind of—” he breaks off, staring at his knees.

“You kind of what?” I lean forward, eyes narrowing. What is he avoiding?

Adrian sighs. His voice is low when he mumbles, “I was embarrassed, okay?”

I blink, leaning away from him. “What? Why?”

“Because Anna called me _Scholarship_!” He blinks, cheeks red. Shame is clear on his face. “I didn’t know you back then, and I thought that you would be like everyone else at that stupid fucking school once you heard I was—”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Did you think I would make fun of you or something for having a scholarship to Laurier?”

Is that why he avoided me all those weeks ago—because he was embarrassed to be called Scholarship? And today too?

Adrian plucks at his uniform pants, shrugging. “I guess.”

I try to feel offended. I really do. I mean, he should know better by now that I think the rich kids who go to Laurier are stupid as fuck. Doesn’t he know me at all?

I can’t really summon offense, though. Instead, I laugh. “Why would I make fun of you for getting a scholarship, Adrian? That’s ridiculous.”

He blinks at me, mouth parting in shock. “But everyone else seems to think I’m some sort of charity case or something! They treat me like I don’t deserve to go to Laurier, all because I’m not wealthy!”

I scoff, shaking my head. “According to Prescott and Puss Face, I believe that _I’m_ Charity Case, thank you very much.” My smile fades. “And you know that those rich pieces of shit are just that—pieces of shit. Right?”

Adrian nods jerkily. “I guess I just… didn’t want you to know that I’m not,” he gestures around at the basement, “you know…”

“That you’re not a rich asshole like all of your friends?” I snort. “Yeah, I think I noticed that.”

Adrian plays with his fingers, head tilted down so that his bangs obscure his eyes. His voice is soft when he says, “I hate admitting it, but I’m embarrassed about where I live. I almost died from humiliation when the guys picked me up on your first day of school.” He groans, passing a hand over his face. “I thought Kieran was going to pick me up instead, so you wouldn’t have to see that shitty trailer.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff, right?” I poke him until he looks at me. “I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my mom and I aren’t necessarily rich either. We were close to losing our house back in Maine.”

I’ve never admitted this to anyone, but I was very aware of Mom’s financial situation prior to moving in with Bryant. Too many times had I come home from school or work and found red-lettered bills taped to our front door. I once heard Mom crying in the kitchen about how high the electric bill was.

I may or may not have slipped my entire paycheck that month into her purse. It wasn’t much, just some extra cash from part-time work, but I thought it would help. I honestly don’t know if she noticed or not. She never said anything.

I think that’s what pisses me off the most about how she’s been acting lately. She behaves like Bryant _owes_ her or something, like she’s _entitled_ to his money. It’s sickening, and manipulative, because I honestly don’t think Bryant has any clue what he’s up against— _who_ he’s up against.

Adrian clears his throat. “I love my mom, and I never really minded living in a trailer until I started going to Laurier, but the kids at that school…” He shakes his head. “They were really cruel freshman year. Beck and Mike made everyone stop calling me _Scholarship_ ,” he sneers, “after I joined the football team, but some people still call me that behind my back. I know they do.”

I remember Eric’s words, Colt’s ugly insinuations. “I will gladly stab a bitch for you.” I pat his back. “You have my number. Use it if you need to.”

He smiles, nudging me with his hand. “Will do, killer.”

I know it’s time to bring up the _other_ topic. Deep breath.

I say, “So, I had a realization on Friday night.”

Adrian raises a brow, leaning away cautiously. He asks, “Yeah?”

I clear my throat. “Not about Matt or anything. More like—um—I maybe realized that you were lying?”

His eyes narrow. “About what?”

“Um…” I train my eyes on the tv across the room, unable to meet his inquisitive gaze as I rush out, “ _ImayhaverealizedthatyouandMikeweren’tcheatingwithagirlatthatparty_.”

He blinks in confusion. “What did you just say?”

I sigh, pressing my lips together. “Adrian. Man. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” he demands, looking genuinely confused.

I hesitate, the small possibility that Jamie was _wrong_ screaming in the back of my mind. “Well, it may be just a theory, but I kind of think that you and Mike weren’t—you know—actually cheating with a girl. At Kaiden White’s party?” Why is my voice so high? I clear my throat and peek over at Adrian through my hair.

His lips are parted, face going expressionless. “What are you implying, Harlow?”

Shit. Did I just fuck up?

I hedge in a whisper, “Are you and Mike gay for each other, Adrian?”

His mouth moves wordlessly for a long moment. He shakes his head a little, this low sound scraping out of his throat. Finally, he meets my eyes, something so tense and on-guard about his posture now. Firmly, he says, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I saw you two come out of a bedroom together, and I didn’t see a girl with you. Oh—also because you guys keep giving each other these mushy glances and I’m pretty sure Jamie said she saw you stare at a basketball player’s butt one time? And you don’t have a girlfriend, so you’re either _single five life_ , or totally into Mike. And I’m pretty sure he’s into you too, if that’s the case, because he could not have looked more bored at homecoming—like seriously, I pity Natalie in that relationship.” I take a deep breath to finish my tirade. “ _And_ Jamie gave me this book for my birthday that’s about gay dudes—we’re not talking about that—but I just want to let you know that I would totally support you, if I’m right about everything. And I’m pissed off at you for lying to me, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Adrian’s bottom lip trembles. After a moment, he whispers, “Were we _that_ obvious?”

My eyes fly wide. “So it’s true?!”

He stares down at his lap, face horrified. “Oh my god. I can’t believe—Mike is going to be _pissed_ when he finds out—” Adrian cuts himself off, breathing faster.

I inch closer, patting him awkwardly on the back. “Sorry for dumping this on you. I know you didn’t really mean to, you know, _come out_ to me or anything …”

Adrian’s head whips up. His eyes are wide, blazing bright blue as he stares directly at me. He grabs my shoulders. “Who else have you told?”

“No one. I swear.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.” He stands, pacing back and forth in front of the couch.

“Uh, Adrian?” He continues pacing. “I didn’t mean to set off an existential crisis.”

He’s talking to himself. “But it might be okay,” he reassures himself, running his fingers through his hair, his bangs sticking up wildly. “He’s been talking about telling them for a while.”

“Adrian?” I whisper. I bite my bottom lip as he stops pacing to look at me with crazed eyes. “Are you okay—”

“Harlow!” Adrian squats down in front of me, hands on my knees. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Let Mike and I handle—we’ll handle it, okay?”

I nod dumbly. “I wasn’t planning on telling anyone—”

“Great!” He straightens, plastering on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “That’s good. Okay, I’m going to go help Jax study now, maybe throw myself out a window on the third floor—who knows?” He barks out a hysterical laugh, rushing toward the stairs.

I jump up from the couch and wrap my arms around him from behind. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to panic you! I just wanted to let you know that I _know_ …”

He inhales deeply. Exhales. “Okay,” he whispers, turning in my grasp. He winces as his eyes meet mine. “I didn’t think we were that obvious,” he mumbles.

I swallow, lip twitching. “I think I’m just really oblivious. I mean, first the whole thing with Beck, and now _this_ —” I stop talking, the realization of what I just said setting in.

Adrian squints. “What _thing_ with Beck?” A slow smile curves over his lips. “Did you finally realize that you have the hots for a certain Harper boy?”

I was actually referencing the whole _Mutiny_ thing and that Beck and I are complete dumbasses, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I shove him away, crossing my arms. “How dare you. I would _never_ —I mean, that’s completely _disgusting_ —” I cut myself off with a slightly unhinged laugh, walking robotically over to the couch.

Adrian follows me, grin splitting his face. “Oh, you have it _bad_.” He sits next to me on the couch. “I knew it the day he walked into the kitchen shirtless.” He laughs. “You turned so _red_.”

I elbow him. “ _I’m_ the one supposed to be interrogating _you_.”

Oh, how the turntables.

Adrian laughs a little, lapsing into silence. After several minutes of just sitting next to each other on the couch, him probably reflecting on something deep and Adrian-like, me totally not thinking about Beck’s abs, Adrian breaks the silence.

He comments, “So Jamie got you a _book_ , huh?” He side-eyes me.

I avoid his gaze and shrug in response.

I see Adrian smirk in my periphery. “And it was _gay_?”

I shrug again in a non-answer.

He snickers. “What was it about, you fiend?”

I mumble, “Navy Seals.”

Adrian is quiet for a long moment. “Do you still have it?”

I nod. “It’s in my room.”

He gets up from the couch and holds out a hand to me. “I guess we’d better go check out that book,” he suggests casually, as if we’re not totally talking about a homoerotic novel right now.

I agree, not because I’m particularly eager to show a teenage boy the porn book I got for my birthday.

No, I take his hand and let him pull me off the couch because his cheeks are flushed dark red, almost as red as mine, and the way he’s biting his lip lets me know that I may no longer be the sole owner of _the book_ anymore.

I’m oddly okay with that.


	23. The Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT (not really, but closer than we've ever been in this story???)
> 
> Enjoy, you filthy animals. ;)

Everything seems to have gone to shit recently. Technically, this entire semester has been a shit show, but nothing seems to go right in the weeks following homecoming.

On a random Wednesday morning the third week of October, I walk into school with the guys on an odd day where they don’t have football practice before school, only to find the words _DIE FAGGOT_ spray-painted across Adrian’s locker in bright red.

All of the blood leaves Adrian’s face. It’s horrible watching and being unable to do anything as this completely heartbroken, humiliated look passes over his face. Beck seethes, ripping off his uniform jacket and using it to wipe at the paint. It doesn’t even budge.

“Who the fuck did this?!” Mike yells, making the entire hallway of bustling students pause and go silent.

Kieran wraps an arm around Adrian, who seems unable to react to the words on his locker. I bite my lip and thread my fingers through Adrian’s in a show of silent support.

“I will fucking destroy whoever did this shit!” Beck punches the locker next to Adrian’s, denting the metal. I wince in sympathy. That must’ve hurt. Beck doesn’t even look effected, though, and just glares out over the mass of students.

“What did you just do to school property, Mr. Harper?” Principal Edwards demands, heels clicking as she storms down the hallway. When she sees the words painted on Adrian’s locker, she gasps, hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my word. Who would write such a thing?”

Principal Edwards summons a custodian to clean up the paint _immediately_. Beck silently takes ahold of an unresponsive Adrian’s arm, hauling him away and toward the bathroom. The rest of the guys follow suit, Jax offering me a grim look and a promise to meet me in homeroom as he passes.

I linger in the hallway until the crowd starts to dissipate, students and teachers taking their pity-filled, bullshit gossiping with them. Once the hallway is relatively cleared to the point that I’m left with the custodian and a few teachers who are talking to Principal Edwards, I move stiffly to my locker and grab my books.

While the teachers and Principal Edwards may be acting oblivious as to who wrote those words, I have a feeling that I know exactly who wrote them.

**********

In P.E. later that same day, I get my answer.

I take a little longer than usual getting changed, cursing my short hair for not being long enough to tie back. I have started pinning the sides back during P.E., because otherwise I can’t fucking see. I don’t know how people keep bangs all the time—I prefer to see my surroundings and not just a curtain of hair, thanks.

When I come out of the locker-room, I see Beck glaring at Eric and Colt in the middle of the gym. Adrian stands to Beck’s side, face flushed and eyes downcast. Eric has a shit-eating grin on his face, Colt’s acne strewn face also twisted into a grimacing smile. It must hurt him to smile with all the volcanoes on his cheeks.

I rush over to them, asking, “What’s going on?”

Beck barely glances at me, pointing a finger at Eric. “You want to say that again to my face?”

Eric scans his eyes over Beck. “It’s so cute of you to protect your _girlfriend_.” He looks to Adrian. “Am I right to assume that you’re the bitch in this relationship?”

“Piece of shit!” Beck exclaims, lunging at Eric with his fist raised. Adrian quickly grabs Beck around his waist. I quickly get on Beck’s other side in an attempt to block him from doing something stupid.

“Don’t!” I say. “He’s not worth it—”

“Ooh,” Colt sneers from behind me. “You’re not satisfied with Scholarship, so you had to get Charity Case involved too, Harper? Nasty. Who rides who in this arraignment?” He and Eric snicker obnoxiously.

“Fuck you!” Beck spits at them, straining against my and Adrian’s grip.

“Harper, Anson, and Prescott! This is not what I meant by warming up!” Coach Schmidt shouts, stomping across the gym. She has her greying hair pulled back into a slick bun, her muscular arms jutting out of a cuffed t-shirt. Her whistle bounces against her chest as she stops next to us and glares between Beck and the other two assholes.

“Oh, so you stop now that your master is here?” Eric mockingly waves his hands at Coach Schmidt. “Praise the football dyke, praise her—”

Jesus. I almost cringe. I hate that fucking word—it’s so much worse than _butch_.

Coach Schmidt utters a curse and grabs ahold of Eric’s ear. “You think your pathetic insults are going to do you any good, boy? You’ll have fun in prison in a few years—just wait.” She spares Beck a tense glance, and then pulls Eric away, calling over her shoulder, “Anson! You come too!”

Colt mumbles something offensive and follows after her.

Beck hisses under his breath. “I want to fucking kill those pricks.”

Adrian loosens his hold, letting Beck stand up straight. I let my hand linger on Beck’s chest, taking anything I can get away with at this point. I’m totally not copping a feel or anything. His chest is firm, though, ridden with tension. I want to lick it, let my tongue make everything better.

Is that inappropriate?

My eyes meet Adrian’s as Beck lets loose a string of expletives while Coach Schmidt escorts Eric and Colt out of the gym. Adrian’s lip twitches, eyes flicking down to where my hand is pressed against Beck’s chest.

Flushing, I jerk my hand back and narrow my eyes at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

Beck looks down at me in bewilderment. “What?”

I shake my head, killing Adrian’s stupid smug face with my eyes. “Nothing.”

Coach Schmidt pops her head back into the gym really quickly. “Everyone is running ten laps! Get ‘em done before I get back.” She leaves again, muttering, “Rich brats.”

Beck is still staring at me with a frown, seeming to have momentarily forgotten about Colt and Eric. I avoid his eyes and start running around the track of the gym, discreetly flipping Adrian my middle finger as I do.

He coughs a laugh, apparently feeling better about today’s bullshit. At least my misery can provide _someone_ entertainment.

Asswipe.

***********

I honestly don’t know how I didn’t notice that Mike and Adrian were together for so long. Mike is anything but subtle about his fretting on the ride back to the house; he continually asks Adrian if he’s okay, if he needs Mike to track down Colt and Eric and beat the shit out of them, if he should report it to the cops and get them arrested for—as Mike calls it— _domestic terrorism_.

Even I think he’s going a bit too far with that last one, but I think we’re all in agreement that Eric and Colt are pussy ass bitch boys who need to have their teeth knocked in. If Beck could pull his head out of his ass and stop brooding for five seconds, I’m sure he would offer to do the honors.

He’s been in a bad mood all day. He’s been pissy and short-tempered since seeing the words on Adrian’s locker. I’m sure the encounter with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbfuck during P.E. didn’t help.

It’s almost like he took the offense against Adrian _personally_. I would ask him about it, but I already know that’s exactly what he’s done. If this were any normal teenage boy—and not Beckett Harper, self-proclaimed father of his friend group—I would think that it’s weird how upset he is on Adrian’s behalf. But I _know_ Beck, and I know that he’s hurting for Adrian, even if Adrian isn’t acting like he’s all that effected anymore.

Stupid, empathetic dumbass—that’s Beck.

Coach Schmidt canceled football practice after school because she was having a meeting with Eric’s and Colt’s parents about the P.E. incident. I’m surprised the guys are even still having practice regularly, because there’s about half a foot of snow outside all the time. It melts somewhat during the day, and then snows more at night and during the early morning.

Fucking Colorado. It’s October, you dumb whore.

When Mike, Beck, and I get to the house after dropping Jax, Kieran, and Adrian off, I notice an unfamiliar car in the driveway. It’s a dark blue Chevy, equipped with the shittiest of car parts and a douchey exterior.

“Whose car is that?” I ask as Beck pulls the SUV into the garage.

He frowns. “I don’t know. Never seen it before.”

When the garage door opens, Mike makes a strange noise. “The Porsche isn’t here. Dad isn’t back yet…” He and Beck share a quick glance and then bolt from the car as soon as the engine shuts off.

“Wait!” I scramble out of the car after them, cursing as I scrape my leg on the seat. When I stumble through the house door a few paces behind Mike and Beck, I hear voices in the kitchen.

At the dining table sits Mom. A well-dressed man with a shiny bald head sits across from her, a cup of coffee in his hand. Mom is dressed in another one of her booby/work shirts. She is preening, leaning over the table with her hand lightly placed on the man’s arm, tittering like a goddamn bird.

Beck and Mike halt in the doorway of the kitchen, but I push past them. “What are you doing?” I demand, glaring accusingly at the man.

Mom notices me, eyes flying wide. She shoots the man a look, plastering on a fake smile and standing from the table. “Harlow! Sweetie, I didn’t think you guys would be home so early.”

“Practice was canceled,” mumbles Mike.

“Who the fuck are you?” Beck demands, tactful as always.

The man clears his throat, rising from his seat. He offers Beck a stiff smile and an outstretched hand. “My name is Oliver Bunting. I’m an associate of your father’s. I presume you’re Beckett?”

Beck ignores Mr. Clean’s hand. “Why are you in our house?”

Oliver sputters, looking to my mom for guidance. She narrows her eyes at Beck, hissing through gritted teeth, “I invited him here. He’s helping Bryant with a case right now, and we needed to go over interrogatory requests in a calm environment. The office gets so busy.” She barks a laugh that sounds forced.

I hate that I can see her boobs. I want to tell her to cover the girls up.

“So you brought him to our fucking house?” Beck demands, scowling between my mom and Oliver. “You may be living here right now, but you don’t get to invite strange men over whenever you want—”

“Beckett Harper!” Mom exclaims. Her mouth gapes in outrage. “How dare you speak to me like that!” She turns to Oliver. “I am so sorry about him—his father hasn’t _disciplined_ him enough, as you can see.”

Beck’s lip curls and he goes to respond. I beat him to it by saying, “You don’t get to comment on how they act, Mom.” She glares at me. I shrug. “What? You’re not _their_ mom. They can do whatever they want.”

“I will soon be their mother—”

“No, you fucking won’t, bitch.” Beck turns on his heel, storming out of the kitchen.

Mike grimaces in disgust at my mom, backing out too. “You may be marrying our dad, but you have to be a mom to your own kid first before you get to parent anyone else.”

Mom stammers out some lame excuse for their behavior to Oliver. I don’t stay to hear it, turning to follow after Beck and Mike.

Do you know how much it sucks to say that the guys have felt more like my family recently than my own mother? It’s sad that five teenage boys seem to care more about me than the woman who conceived me.

Really sad.

***********

The guys and I hide out in our respective rooms until Oliver’s car leaves. Who the fuck drives a goddamn Chevy? Sketchy bastards, that’s who.

Bryant gets back a little after five. I can hear him and my mom talking about wedding plans from my room. My mom wants a winter wedding, so she’s pushing it. I think the date is set for the end of January this coming year, only a few months away. Mom has picked out the catering and the cake, the stupid fake flowers and the useless tableware that’ll be used once and then sold for less than she’s going to buy it for. Don’t people typically spend like a year planning a wedding? What’s the rush?

Bryant special ordered my mom this massive diamond ring. It got here a few days ago, this heavy chunk of rock that’s apparently a rare _amber diamond_ and looks like it costs more than all of my organs combined would sell for on the black market. I honestly don’t know what Bryant was thinking—or my mom, for that matter.

I remember the wedding ring she used to wear when Dad was alive. It was this modest band with a few stones imbedded on the top of it. Nothing too fancy. Dad told me once that he’d made it by hand during a welding workshop he took in college. He said it took him over a year to learn how to imbed the stones in the metal securely, but that once he’d perfected the ring, he proposed that same night.

I don’t know what Mom did with the ring. I know that she let Dad be buried with his ring, but she stopped wearing hers after the funeral.

I’m almost afraid to ask her at this point. I’m so afraid that she sold it, that she just tossed away something so precious, so _Dad_ without any thought. Because she would do something like that without regret.

At around nine o’clock, Mike knocks on my bedroom door, a textbook and notebook in hand. I lean against the doorframe and stare up at him in question.

He takes a deep breath, glancing up and down the hallway. “Are you busy right now?”

I shake my head, gesturing to my laptop, which is still booting up—as it has been attempting to for the last ten minutes. “Not really.”

“Have you done the Chem homework yet?” He comes into my room, taking a seat on my unmade bed.

I raise a brow at him and shove the door mostly closed to block out the sounds of Mom’s excited chatter downstairs. “Sure, Michael. You can come in. Don’t hesitate to make yourself at home.”

He points at me. “This _is_ technically my house.”

I dig out my Chemistry textbook and my notebook, taking a seat at my desk. “I glanced at the homework earlier, but it just seemed so _uninteresting_.”

Mike flips open his own textbook. “I’m stuck on number three.”

We talk idly about the homework for a few minutes, Mike seeming to understand the subject better than I ever will. When even he can’t solve one of the problems, though, he drops the textbook and flops back onto my bed. I snicker and try to figure out if the homework answers are in the back of the textbook.

I’ve already checked pretty much every time we get homework assigned for this class, but you never know. The answers may magically appear one day.

When I am hopelessly lost in the bibliography section, Mike clears his throat. He’s still laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. “Adrian told me that you know.”

I blink and almost drop the textbook. “He did?”

I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. A week ago, Adrian told me we shouldn’t tell Mike that I know anything quite yet; apparently, Mike panics about coming out easily.

Understandable.

Mike nods, hair rubbing against my sheets. I can see his undercut from here. It makes his jaw look harder, more defined. Similar to Beck’s. “He also said that you haven’t told anyone else?”

I wait until he looks at me to answer. I offer him a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s really none of my business.”

Mike sits up, eyes bright. “It’s reassuring that _someone_ knows, though. And that you don’t totally hate us or anything.” He blows out a long breath. “I almost blew it earlier today. I could’ve strangled Prescott.”

“He’s a limp noodle, that one.” I shove the textbook to the ground. If I burn it in effigy, will we experience drought this year?

Mike snorts. “You’re an odd one. You seriously don’t mind, though?” He plucks at Dad’s bear quilt shoved up near my pillows. Pascal, so much bigger now that he’s eaten me out of house and home, waddles over the piles of blankets and curls up next to Mike with a yawn. Mike scratches his ears.

“I think I traumatized Adrian by telling him that I know, but no, I don’t mind.” I toss Pascal’s favorite chew toy at Mike, who teases my tired child mercilessly. The fiend.

Mike suppresses a laugh. “He told me about _the book_.”

I groan, slumping in my chair. “Please tell me that you don’t want to read it too.”

Mike lifts his head a little, eyebrow raised. “You still have it?”

“Of course.” I dig it out of the bottom drawer of the desk, the shirtless dude on the cover identifiable as I chuck it onto the bed.

Mike grins, picking up the book. “No shit? Didn’t think you’d read this stuff.” His eyes meet mine, mischief making his eyes shine. “Naughty girl, Harlow.”

My cheeks flush, but the door to my bedroom flies open before I can respond.

“Why are you in here?” Beck asks Mike, a scowl firmly set on his face. He’s wearing those damn irresistible sweatpants. One of these days, I’m going to steal them and burn them with fire—or keep them and never give them back.

One of those options.

I squeak as Mike hastily shoves _the book_ under the quilt and sits up. “No reason!” Mike says, not-so-casually leaning back against the quilt.

Beck’s eyes narrow as he comes farther into the room. “What did you just hide?”

Mike shrugs innocently. “I didn’t hide anything.”

“Yes,” Beck says slowly. “You did. Behind that blanket.” He stops at the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t see him hide anything,” I pipe up, cheeks burning.

Please don’t find it, please don’t find it.

I can handle Jamie’s teasing about, Adrian’s lowkey obsession with, and Mike’s interest in _the book_. I _can’t_ handle Beck knowing that I read the damn thing.

“Yeah, bro.” Mike offers Beck a tense smile. “I didn’t hide anything—”

Beck shoves Mike over, barely avoiding squishing Pascal. He rips the quilt away, exposing _the book_ and all its shirtless cover glory. He picks it up, flipping it over with a frown. “What the fuck is this?”

Mike makes a grab for the book. “Nothing! Give it back, man.”

I feel my soul leave my body as Beck reads the back cover. I’m pretty sure that the flush rising up his neck is spurred on by the words _animal magnetism_ in the description.

Damn you, Jamie.

This is it, world. I have to kill myself now. I can’t bear to live any longer—

“Why are you reading this shit, Mikey?” Beck demands, glancing up at his brother skeptically. “ _’_ The military has never been _harder_. Kevin is a new recruit—of _love_ —and Sergeant Jake is going to be his coach in all things—‘” Beck breaks off. “What the _hell_?” He tosses the book back on the bed like it has burned him physically.

Mike’s face is priceless. He looks like he’s dying as much as I am.

I can’t stop the hysterical giggle that escapes my lips. “He—he read the back!” I giggle some more, almost falling out of my chair.

“It’s her book—not mine!” Mike points a finger at me, face pale.

Beck stares judgmentally at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Pace?”

I try to stifle my laughter. “Jamie’s the one who gave it to me!”

“When?” Beck demands, squinting at me.

I choke, unable to focus with his dark eyes trained on me. “My birthday. I swear I didn’t read it until recently, though!”

“But you _read_ it?!” Beck looks like he’s in shock, unable to compute anything that’s happening. “But you just had your first kiss like a week and a half ago!”

“Shut up!” My eyes flicker to Mike warily.

He frowns at Beck. “I don’t think what Dahmer did counts, prick.”

Beck grits his teeth, ignoring his brother. “Are you telling me that you were nervous about me kissing you, and yet you’ve been reading porn books? About gay guys, no less?”

I try to summon a frown or offense—anything but the fuzzy feeling consuming my entire brain at the words _me kissing you_. “It’s different—”

“Wait, wait.” Mike holds up a hand. “You _kissed_ her? When?”

Beck goes still, eyes flying wide. He makes eye contact with me, mouth opening and closing. I cough another laugh. He looks like Mike has a gun pointed to his head.

Although, judging by the expression on Mike’s face, he very well may have a gun hidden somewhere. Eyes murderous, he demands, “Explain, Beck. Now.”

“I—she was upset, so I just—”

I butt in, “It wasn’t serious or anything—”

“I was just trying to make her feel better—”

Is it hot in here? “And it’s not like I would ever _want_ Beck to kiss me in real life—”

Beck turns away from Mike. “Wait—why the fuck wouldn’t you want to kiss me? I’ll have you know that I am a fantastic kisser—”

“Yeah, but you’re kind of icky—”

Beck looks offended. “I am not _icky_! How dare you call me that—”

I can’t seem to stop. “You’re the one who fucking ruffled my hair afterward. Ruffled!”

“I was trying to stop your brain from melting from my amazing seduction skills—”

“Oh, so you were trying to _seduce_ me—”

“I never said that! Damn you, woman—”

I stand from my chair, getting in Beck’s face. “Don’t try your misogynistic bullshit with me, Beckett Harper—”

Beck raises his hands, leaning down into my space as well. “What did I say?! You’re so fucking difficult—”

“Screw you—”

“No, screw _you_ —”

“Uh, guys?” Mike interrupts. Beck and I both look over at him, chests heaving. Mike has this little tilt to his lip that I don’t like. He stands from the bed, grabbing Pascal and _the book_ as he moves around Beck toward my open bedroom door. He waves the book at us. “You two obviously have some unresolved,” he pauses, eyes scanning over us with a smirk, “ _tension._ I’ll leave you to it.”

And then he just walks out and closes the door, leaving me and Beck standing in the middle of my room staring after him.

Under my breath, I muse, “I think he just kidnapped my dog.”

“Why the hell did he shut the door?” Beck asks. He turns his head to look down at me at the same time that I turn to look at him. Our faces are so close, all I would have to do is lean forward a little, just the slightest amount, and our lips would meet.

***********

I’m starting to realize that I really don’t know Harlow at all. I mean, what girl can read literal porn, but still be nervous about something as menial as a first _kiss_? Is she normal—and are all teenage girls like this?

Girls are insane.

I clear my throat, leaning away from her a bit. She’s so close, I can smell her shampoo. It’s this generic brand that smells like apples and is a scent I solely associate with Harlow now. Her eyes are wide, so bright that the lighter flecks of brown and green around her irises look like gold. Her cheeks are red, eyes flitting away from mine as she backs up as well.

“What’s Mike’s problem?” she wonders quietly, turning as if to get away from me.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I set a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving too far. “You didn’t seriously read that book, right?” My voice sounds rough, low to my ears. I clear my throat again.

Harlow makes a noncommittal noise and seems fascinated with the collar of my t-shirt, not meeting my eyes. I’m starting to think that she has an issue with eye-contact—or just being a functioning human being in general. The realization that she probably _did_ read that book does something to my brain. I tilt my head, seeing Harlow in a new light for the first time.

Ever since I met her, she’s come across as this awkward little girl. I somehow can’t imagine her ever getting a job and living on her own; she just seems like she’ll stay a teenager forever, her attitude never leaving and her lack of socialization skills never improving. I thought it was annoying at first, thought she was just some spoiled brat who was fine with her mom stealing my dad’s money.

But looking at her now, it’s suddenly obvious to me that she’s not just a kid. Harlow’s actually a girl—an _attractive_ girl. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers incessantly that she’s kind of…. cute.

Like totally in an objective way. Her hair, so short from Anna’s cruelty, sticks out in wispy layers around her ears and cheeks, this brown mess of waves and curls. Her fingers fidget in front of her, pulling at the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt.

She’s so much smaller than me. I know how light she is, how easily I am able to carry her.

I know how soft the skin of her hands is, free of calluses and soft from the lotion that she uses.

I know that her lips are soft, and that she gasped into my mouth when I kissed her the night of homecoming. I know that little sound went straight to my groin, and that I covered it up by messing with her hair so that she wouldn’t see the swell in my dress pants.

I know that for some stupid, inexplicable reason, I want to kiss her again right now. I want to find out how she tastes, whether her lips are really that soft or if I was just imagining it. I want to feel her tongue against mine, mix our breaths together. I want to feel her body pressed against mine, want to _feel_ Harlow as she is, as the girl who crash-landed into my life and stole my breath away, who makes me want to strangle her most days, but who seems to _care_ so much for my brother, my friends. My family.

I want to kiss Harlow Pace again.

And so, I don’t even stop myself from palming her cheek, lifting her face to mine, and leaning down to press my lips against hers.

**********

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Beck is _kissing_ me. Again.

His lips are a gentle pressure against my own, so sweet. His thumb rubs over my cheek, tilting my head upward. He has his eyes closed, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he makes a low noise in his throat and increases the pressure against my mouth.

I make a startled noise. Should I close my eyes too? What is he _doing_?

I lean back, parting our lips. I whisper, “What are you doing?”

Beck’s eyelids flutter open, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes look completely black. “Kissing you,” he whispers back. His hand is still on my cheek.

I’m unable to look away from him. “But why?”

Beck’s throat works, eyes scanning over my face. “Because I wanted to.”

I don’t understand. Do I really need to, though? I ask, “Do you _still_ want to?”

He nods slowly, breath brushing over my cheeks as he exhales. His hand guides my lips back to his. His mouth opens mine a little, his tongue caressing my lips, then my tongue. I moan into his mouth, unsure what to do with my hands.

Damn you, Beckett Harper. I don’t know what I’m doing here!

Beck chuckles against my mouth, pulling away slightly. “You’re so tense.”

I open my eyes to glare at him. “ _You’re_ the one who kissed me out of nowhere.”

His dark eyes glint as he raises his other hand to the side of my neck, moving closer so that the front of his body brushes against mine. “Like this,” he murmurs, lips meeting mine again. His lips guide mine, hand wandering down my arm and directing my hand up into his hair. I run my fingers through the dark strands, tugging experimentally.

Beck groans into my mouth, this rumbling noise that makes my core throb and my thighs squeeze together. He backs up until he hits the edge of the bed, sitting down heavily. I follow, intent on keeping our mouths connected. I climb onto his lap, knees resting on either side of his hips on the mattress.

Beck breaks the kiss with a gasp, hands wandering down to rest on my hips. His hands are so large they hug my entire waist. He pants for breath, forehead rested against mine. “Holy shit, Harlow.”

I take a shuddering breath and scoot closer, hands wandering up his chest experimentally, up the sides of his neck. His skin is so hot, so flushed under my fingers. I widen my knees and sit down lower. He groans again and guides me closer with his hands, lips meeting mine again.

My hips shift on his lap, my aching core needing friction. I’m almost scared to make contact with his legs, though. I don’t know what we’re doing right now.

I don’t fucking know what I’m doing at _all_.

I decide to take a chance anyway. I lower myself so that I’m seated fully on his lap, my core so close to the most intimate part of him. Beck grunts and kisses the corner of my mouth, down my jaw and to the base of my neck. When he hits a particularly sweet spot, my hips buck accidentally.

Beck grunts and grabs my hips, breath hitching. He presses his face into my neck, chest heaving for breath. “Shit. Shit, no. God, we can’t.”

A whimper escapes my mouth and I roll my hips against his, anything to ease the ache between my legs. The bulge at the front of his sweatpants is telling. It has its own heartbeat against my core when I move just right. “Beck.”

He hisses, head raising so that our eyes meet. His lips are red, hair a mess from my fingers. He pants and shudders as I roll against him again, his hips bucking up in response.

“Harlow,” he whispers, lips brushing mine. He squeezes his eyes closed when I grind down against him again. “You can’t do that—shit, we need to—”

“It hurts,” I all but whine. I kiss the side of his mouth, his neck. “I want—I need—”

Beck’s hands tighten on my hips so much that it almost hurts, stilling my movements. His eyes are so dark, so wild when he looks at me. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Harlow.”

The defiant part of me flares up. I grit my teeth and reach a hand down to rub over the front of his sweatpants, palming the thick ridge of hardness. His breath hitches, so I whisper, “I’m not totally naïve.”

“You—you said you’d never kissed anyone before homecoming night.” Beck grunts and takes my hand away from his groin, eyes unfocused.

I press my chest against his, nipping at his neck. I’ve always wanted to do that. “I’ve watched porn, you know.”

“No.” Beck shakes his head. “That’s not the same.” He takes a deep breath, moving me back a little so that my core is no longer so close to him.

I try not to pout, inhaling deeply and running my fingers through my hair. “Why did you kiss me, then?”

Beck blinks, head tilting. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “I really have no idea. I just know that I want to keep doing it. We just can’t do _that_ , okay?” He stares into my eyes and waits until I nod in acknowledgment.

Cheeks hot with embarrassment, I swing a leg off of him, intending on moving away. Before I can stand, Beck grabs me around the waist and hauls me back against his chest and onto his lap. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I frown at him, trying to ignore the firmness of his thighs against the backs of mine, his solid chest and abdomen against my back. “Giving you room?”

Beck chuckles darkly, this dangerous sound that makes me squeeze my thighs together. A shiver rushes down my spine. “You’re not ready for anything more than kissing. That doesn’t mean I don’t still want to kiss you, Low.”

When he turns me in his lap and presses his lips back to mine, I let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW thanks for all the well-wishes on my midterms!!!! They sucked ass, but they're (mostly) over. I'm kind of convinced that only masochists can enjoy grad school at this point - all graduate professors are fucking SADISTS, man. Sadists!!!!!


	24. Anywhere but Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has continually supported/given this story a chance!!!! This one's for all of you!!
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

“Remember—you’re leaving with Kieran after school today. We’ll meet you after practice,” Beck comments, leaning over me in the cafeteria to put his tray into the _USED_ bin.

The scent of his spicy cologne makes my lips throb and my stomach clench. My heartbeat speeds up and I force myself to put my tray down and back away. “I know. You’ve told me this roughly five-thousand times today.”

Mike plops his tray into the bin and slings an arm around my shoulders, steering me out of the cafeteria. His dark eyes glint as he says, “Father Beckett just wants to make sure his only daughter is taken care of.” He winks.

I elbow him and my cheeks get hot. “Don’t include me in your family dynamic, Michael. That’s disgusting.”

“But you’re like our little sister! So cute, so angry and small.” Jax sidles up close to me, stealing my backpack to carry it—and to dig through the front pocket for my gum. Fucking thief. 

Beck grimaces, pointedly not looking at me. I think I spy a small flush on his neck. “No, man. That’s nasty.”

“Why’s it nasty?” Adrian asks. He pokes Beck in between the shoulder blades.

Beck swats at Adrian. “It just is.”

“Aw! Becky doesn’t love us anymore. He’s rejecting the family dynamic!” Kieran cries dramatically, crowing with laughter. Jax joins him.

I swallow and choose not to comment. If I’m going to be considered Beck’s _daughter_ in the family dynamic, I think I’ve been having incestuous thoughts. And technically, by those standards, I would have kissed my _father_ last week. For about an hour. It was hot.

I think I’ll stick with not being included in the family dynamic, thanks.

I’m surprised that Beck hasn’t brought up the very thorough lesson he gave me in kissing last week. He hasn’t even acted awkward toward me, though—he’s just acted normally. I almost expected him to completely avoid me for the rest of my life. I mean, I felt his _dick_.

It was big. Hard. I want to touch it again—this time without clothing covering it.

I won’t lie—I’m kind of proud of myself for making Beckett Harper _hard_. I did that. _Me_.

And oh my god, the _noises_ he made—

I need to focus. It’s just weird how _normal_ Beck is acting. It’s as if he never kissed me, as if I dreamed the whole thing. Other than catching him staring at me more than usual, nothing else has really changed.

And yet, something _has_ changed. Beck touches me more now—just little things: an arm around my shoulders, his foot brushing mine at dinner. But all of the guys have become touchy-feely recently, so I might be projecting.

But Mike is my proof that the kiss was real, that it _did_ happen. He keeps making comments when no one else is listening, doing this lewd motion with his hand and mouth when no one’s looking that I think is supposed to mimic either kissing, a blow job, or some sort of medieval torture.

Adrian hasn’t said anything, so either Mike hasn’t told him, or Adrian is just a really good actor. Or he’s just not as cruel as his (questionable) boyfriend. I don’t really want to know what Mike and Adrian’s relationship status is. I’m pretty sure I saw Adrian grab Mike’s ass last weekend while we were all hiding out in the basement and watching a movie.

My mom has become unbearable. She barely speaks to me anymore, only chattering at Bryant in a demanding tone about the wedding and how everything has to be _perfect_ for _her_ big day. I don’t think she’s honestly stopped to consider that it’s technically going to be Bryant’s wedding too.

I feel guilty every time I see wedding brochures or little reminder notes on the fridge about dress fittings. I shouldn’t have let Beck kiss me, shouldn’t have kissed him back.

In a few months, he’ll be my stepbrother.

As much as I hate to say this, I can’t kiss him again. I just can’t—won’t.

***********

Kieran drives a red pickup truck that was probably manufactured in the last two years—if that. I struggle to climb into the passenger side of the cab, almost slipping off of the foot bar in the process. My head bumps into the door and I curse. “I hate your truck,” I grumble, rubbing at my scalp.

Kieran snorts and starts the engine. “You’re just mad because it’s made for people of average height.”

I slap him and buckle my seatbelt. “I’m almost average! This thing is just made for people with freakishly long legs.”

“Are you saying my legs are freakishly long?” he asks, flipping on the radio.

I pout and change the station out of spite. “If I amputate them, they won’t be.”

He laughs.

“What kind of restaurant are we going to, again?” I watch snowy trees pass out the window.

Kieran hums. “It’s a steakhouse—I think this one will have a barbeque theme.”

“How many restaurants do your parents own?” I frown, trying to remember if he’s ever told me.

“About eighty-five—I think?” He shrugs. “This will be the third one in Colorado, though.”

I peek at him, taking in his sharp profile and spiky blond hair. I’ll never understand how he keeps it so pointy all the time. “Why haven’t they opened a restaurant here sooner if they live here?”

He glances at me quickly, jaw hardening. “They don’t—live here, I mean.”

I frown. “Who do you live with, then? That townhouse is huge.” And it is—this massive, modern building that would probably cost a small fortune to _rent_ , let alone buy.

Kieran makes a dismissive noise. “I live by myself. My parents pop in a few times a year when they have business conferences in Denver.” Noticing something in my expression, Kieran summons up a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine with it—it’s nice to have freedom.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. He really lives alone? I try to imagine living by myself right now, and can’t. I can barely remember to get all my homework done on time, let alone buy groceries, clean _everything_ , and maintain a social life (which I still have yet to figure out how to do).

It almost makes sense that he lives alone, though. Thinking back to all the mornings I’ve gone with Mike and Beck to pick up everyone else, Kieran has always been in various stages of undress. He’s started dressing more thoroughly now that there’s snow outside 24/7, but I don’t think any parent would let their son walk outside without a shirt or with his pants unbuttoned. And Kieran spends most of his time over at the Harpers’ house when he’s not at school—all of the guys do, actually. They seem to live at the Harpers’ house all the time, except for some nights, when they decide to actually sleep at their own houses.

The guys have slept over more nights than not since I moved in. I have brushed it until now—mainly because I didn’t really care—but I’m starting to wonder if each of the guys have reasons to not stay at home.

Kieran lives alone.

Adrian’s dad is a total dickwad—his mom is pretty nice, though.

And Jax lives close to the Harpers’ house, so it’s not like his parents would be _that_ upset about it.

The guys are almost dependent upon each other’s company at this point. I don’t know if they’d be able to function without each other.

And the realization that they are a little family on their own, and that they have started to include _me_ in that family… The thought that they care about me even just a little, that they could worry about me, makes this warm feeling spread throughout my stomach. I could cry, dammit. It makes me happy.

**********

_Pierce’s_ is located in the middle of town, right off the highway. It’s this massive building next to a strip mall, newly built, modern architecture. The sign proclaiming the restaurant’s name can be spotted from a mile away, the restaurant obviously belonging to Kieran’s parents.

“You know,” I say as I follow Kieran into the restaurant. “I think today is the first time I’ve ever heard your last name.”

He quirks a brow at me and raps his knuckles on the host’s stand near the entrance. “I’m pretty sure I’ve told you before.”

I think back. “Nope. Pretty sure if I knew your last name was Pierce, I would have definitely made fun of you, 007.” Kieran’s face shows no recognition, so I say pointedly, “Bond? James Bond?” He shrugs and shakes his head. “Pierce Brosnan, Kieran. He’s the superior James Bond.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “Oh. You mean that old guy? I thought Sean Connery did a better job in those movies.”

Offended deeply, I hiss, “Blasphemy! You shut your whore mouth.”

Kieran coughs a laugh as a hostess, dressed in a pressed button down and black slacks, rushes over to greet us.

“Mr. Pierce! I’m so glad you could make it. You’re table will be right this way.” She turns and walks off, expecting us to follow.

I snicker and move when Kieran does. “ _Mr. Pierce_.”

He elbows me lightly, whispering, “That’s _Agent Bond_ to you.”

The restaurant is fancy. Candlelight illuminates every immaculately dressed table, the atmosphere intimate, private. The carpet is this rich grey color, complimenting the crown molding on the edges of the large dining room. The rich fuckers of Vail are going to eat this place up.

Many of the tables have filled already, with people wearing nice dresses and suits. I feel out of place in my school uniform, but Kieran doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, when we reach our table, he shrugs off his uniform jacket and chucks it to the ground before he takes a seat. He even goes so far as to unbutton the top part of his uniform shirt.

“You have issues with keeping your clothes on, don’t you?” I ask, sitting down next to Kieran at the otherwise empty table. There are like three forks set in front of me, all different sizes. I decide that I’m going to only use the smallest one. It’s cute.

Kieran leans his elbows on the table and slouches lazily. “That’s what your mom said last night. She didn’t seem to mind.”

I flick his forehead. “Prick.”

A man with a bald head walks up to our table and smiles massively at Kieran, extending a hand to him in greeting. “Kieran! Nice to see you, buddy.”

Kieran’s spine goes rigid, and he ignores the man’s hand. “Mr. Dahmer. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

I try to hide the hitch in my breath at the man’s name. My head swings around, pulse speeding up. Kieran slides his hand under the table and places it on my thigh, but it offers me no comfort.

There, seated only a few tables away, is Matt mother-fucking Dahmer. Son of a bitch.

Mr. Dahmer laughs awkwardly, dropping his outstretched hand. “I know the last few weeks have been less than ideal. I hope your parents will still be willing to do business with me in the future.”

Kieran scans the room, grey-green eyes hardening as he also notices Matt. “Why did you bring your son? He’s not welcome here.”

Mr. Dahmer clears his throat in discomfort. “Well, you see—”

A woman with Matt’s nose rushes over to the table and places a hand on Mr. Dahmer’s arm. “Honey! Don’t bother these poor kids. They don’t want to listen to your boring drabbles.” She laughs nervously, eyeing Kieran. When she looks at me, she brightens. “Oh, you must be Kieran’s girlfriend! I’m Talia Dahmer—John’s wife.” She extends her hand to me.

Kieran’s hand squeezes on my knee. I lean away from Talia’s hand. “I’m not Kieran’s girlfriend. My name is Harlow.”

Talia’s mouth drops open wordlessly. Horror clear on her face, she glances at her husband, who chokes on thin air. “Harlow Pace?”

Kieran chuckles darkly, without humor. “Yeah. The girl your son tried to assault—remember that?” He leans forward menacingly over the table, eyes locked on Matt’s parents.

I put my hand on top of Kieran’s on my leg and squeeze his fingers. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere near Matt.

Remember how I said I was totally fine after the whole homecoming incident? Well, here’s the thing—I’m a dumb fucking liar. I’m not fine, not at all. Not when Matt is in the same vicinity as me—hell, not when he’s on the same goddamn continent.

The sight of Matt’s shaved head a few tables away makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry. I can still remember his breath on my face, the feeling of Cara and Leslie prying open my legs and holding down my arms, of Anna forcing my head still while Matt kissed me. I can still remember the gross feeling of Matt pressed against me, of his _thing_ pressed against my thigh.

Whereas I could fantasize about Beck all day and never break a sweat, remembering what Matt tried to do to me makes me nauseous—it makes me want to be anywhere but here.

Beck is safety, warmth.

Matt is… not. Definitely not.

“I want to leave,” I whisper to Kieran, still squeezing his fingers, eyes locked on the back of Matt’s head.

Kieran meets my eyes and nods. “Let’s go.” He scoots his chair back and stands, bending to gather his discarded uniform jacket. I blink at him and scramble to get up as well.

Another man, this one with slicked back, thick blond hair, approaches the table. He grins at Kieran and slaps him on the bicep. “Hey, kiddo. Like the crib?” He laughs and waves an arm at the restaurant, green eyes light. His resemblance to Kieran is uncanny.

Kieran exhales slowly, obviously regaining control. “Dad. I’m going to take Harlow to the Harpers’ house. You don’t need me here, right?”

Kieran’s dad frowns, glancing at me with concern. “Are you feeling all right, sweetheart? Maybe you should sit down—you look pale.”

I start to shake my head, but Kieran speaks before I can. “She needs to get away from _him_.” He jerks his chin in Matt’s direction.

Kieran’s dad notices Matt and then scowls at John and Talia Dahmer. “I told you not to bring him tonight,” he hisses, looking genuinely angry.

Talia sputters. “We can’t just leave him home alone—”

“This is why I told you not to come tonight, Talia,” John scolds quietly. He addresses Kieran’s dad, “I’m so sorry about this, Ethan. We can leave right now—”

I clear my throat. I didn’t mean to make such a scene—people are starting to look. “It’s okay…” Everyone’s eyes move to me and I momentarily balk. “Um. I mean, as long as he doesn’t try to talk to me, it’s fine?” I attempt a laugh. It comes out weak, barely passable.

Kieran’s mouth turns down and he places his palm on my shoulder. “You don’t have to stay here if he makes you uncomfortable, Low—”

I cut him off. “I know. I’ll be fine.” I take a deep breath and retake my seat, heart pounding in my chest.

Matt still hasn’t looked over. Everything will be fine.

Ethan Pierce shoos the Dahmers away and sits heavily across the table. He waits until I meet his eyes to speak. “If you want me to kick him out, just say so.” His lip quirks and he slaps a fist into his other palm. “I’ve still got some teenage violence in me yet.”

Kieran snorts halfheartedly, plopping down into his chair. “You’d break a hip, grandpa.”

“Rude! Sorry you had to miss practice today, kid. Needed you to reserve a table for those delinquent friends of yours,” Ethan says teasingly, sipping his water. “Your mom sends her love.”

Kieran rolls his eyes. He talks idly with his dad for a while, but keeps his hand on mine under the table the whole time. I focus on squeezing his fingers and try not to look up in case Matt has noticed me.

My mom and Bryant arrive a few minutes later. The dining room has risen in volume, every table nearly filled to the brim with chattering people, save for ours. The guys still aren’t here yet.

“Nice to see you, man! Business is doing good, huh?” Bryant shakes Ethan’s hand firmly, patting him on the back and taking a seat. Mom sits next to him.

Ethan grins at Bryant briefly, before nodding his head toward the Dahmer’s table. “Told ‘em that if he makes your girl uncomfortable, I’ll kick him out.”

Bryant’s expression darkens. He meets my eyes. “First thing Monday morning, we’re going to file a restraining order against that twat-waffle.” Mom slaps his arm with a scandalized laugh, but he ignores her. “It will only last up to a year at most, but that should be long enough. He won’t go anywhere near you from now on, got it?”

I nod, cheeks hot in embarrassment. I don’t want this to be a big deal anymore. I can’t wait for everyone—myself included—to move on.

Ethan rushes out of his chair after glancing at his watch and steps onto a small, raised dais at the from of the dining room. He taps a microphone and clears his throat. “Good evening, everyone! Now, I’m sure you’re all starving, so I won’t delay your appetites any longer. To commence the grand opening of _Pierce’s_ eighty-sixth location, let’s eat!” People applaud loudly and Ethan hops off the dais, dashing back over to his seat, out of breath and grinning.

Bryant snorts. “Short and sweet, as usual.”

“You know it.” Ethan pats Bryant’s arm, straining his neck as waiters and waitresses bring out huge serving trays of food.

Mom slumps in her seat and examines her hands, picking at the red acrylic nail on her thumb. She must’ve gotten them done either today or yesterday after work. They clash with the huge diamond on her finger. She says with attitude, “I just think it’s interesting that your sons haven’t shown up yet, Bryant.”

Bryant glances at her, grey eyes annoyed. “They had football practice after school. They’ll be here.”

Mom crosses her arms, pushing out her chest. “Kieran skipped today. Why couldn’t they?”

Bryant sighs, rubbing his temple. “Kieran needed to reserve our table—right, Kieran? Besides, Beck can’t miss practice. He’s the team captain this year. He needs to stay focused, because scouting season is starting soon.”

“That boy will get a scholarship, Bryant.” Ethan scoffs good-naturedly. “I’ve never seen a kid with an arm like that before.”

Bryant’s lip lifts. “He’s gotten really good in the last few years.” Pride shines in his eyes.

Ethan asks, “Do you know which schools he’s going to request to come watch him play?”

Bryant frowns and shakes his head. “He hasn’t said—”

I can’t help myself. I pipe up, “He wants to go to CU Boulder.” Bryant looks at me in surprise. Mom looks at me as well, but her eyes are narrowed. I shrug and shift uncomfortably. “What? He told me.”

Kieran saves me by saying, “All of us are planning on going to Boulder. Low too, right?” He nudges me playfully.

I shove him a little and make a noncommittal noise, avoiding Mom’s intense stare. “I haven’t really decided yet—”

“Sorry we’re late,” Mike pants, slipping into the seat on Kieran’s other side. “There was a pileup on I70.”

Ethan leans forward to let Jax and Adrian squeeze by him around the table. “Did you see any bodies on the road?”

Kieran groans. “Dad. Not the best line of questioning.”

“I think it’s an _excellent_ line of questioning.” Jax laughs and plops into the seat next to Mom, leaving the only open seat next to me. Beck slides into it, flashing me a quick grin. His hair is damp, and he smells like fresh cologne and soap, clean. He probably showered after practice. I press my lips together and look down.

Kieran leans around the back of my chair toward Beck and hisses, “Dahmer’s here.”

Beck immediately finds Matt across the dining room. A muscle pops in his jaw and he starts to rise from his seat.

I quickly place a hand on his arm to stop him. His uniform jacket is cold from walking outside. “Don’t,” I plead. Beck meets my eyes, his dark and angry. “I’m okay.”

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t look away, leaning close to whisper, “But you’re really not, Low.”

A lump rises in my throat, but Mom speaks before I can reply. She says, “I didn’t know you two got along so well.” She’s glaring at my hand on Beck’s arm.

I quickly remove it and scoot my chair closer to Kieran’s. “We don’t.”

Beck clears his throat and flashes an annoyed look at my mom. “Yeah,” he drawls. “Mortal enemies, me and Low.” He sprawls out in his chair, taking up way too much room. His knee brushes against mine under the table, and I have an urge to make him take up more room—preferably with me.

“Stop,” Bryant lowly murmurs to Mom, before resuming his conversation with Ethan. Mom scowls at the side of Bryant’s head; he ignores her.

A waiter comes to set massive plates of food in front of each of us. Jax and Kieran seem to be competing for who can scarf down their food the quickest. I notice Adrian and Mike talking quietly to one another, seemingly innocent. I wonder briefly if they’re holding hands under the table.

Beck’s knee stays pressed against mine throughout the appetizers, then the entrées, then the desserts, his dark eyes sliding to meet mine every few minutes. Whenever I nudge him, he nudges back.

Mom glares at us the whole meal.

***********

It’s a blaringly obvious mistake to go to the restroom by myself after dessert. I should have known better, but my bladder was protesting too much to ignore. It’s a mistake, though, because when I exit the restroom, still drying my hands on a paper towel, Matt is leaning against the wall opposite the restroom door. I freeze in the doorway, idly discarding the paper towel in the wastebin inside the bathroom near the door.

“What do you want?” I’m proud at how my voice doesn’t shake. I try to remind myself that I can just jump back into the bathroom and lock the door. I have my phone on me—I could text Beck or any of the guys. They would come, for sure.

Matt is sweating nervously. His voice trembles when he speaks, unable to fully meet my eyes. “I’m—Harlow, I’m so _sorry_ —” His voice breaks and he hunches over, hand rising to cover his mouth.

At the realization that he’s _crying_ , my hand squeezes on the door handle. “I don’t want to talk to you.” I try to motivate my feet to move down the hall. I’m stuck in the doorway, though. My legs won’t listen to me.

Matt takes a shuddering breath, wiping at his cheeks. He sniffles and meets my eyes, his filled with tears. “I know you don’t. I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.”

A lump rises in my throat. “Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you? It’s not going to work—”

“No, no!” Matt cuts me off, raising his hands. “I just—I owe you an _explanation_ , Harlow. I swear what happened at homecoming wasn’t my idea.”

I reluctantly nod, eyeing him. If he takes a move in my direction, I’m bolting back into the restroom. “I know it was Anna’s idea. She’s had it out for me all semester.”

Matt sniffles again. “She’s had it out for me too.” His eyes are pleading when he says, “You know I would have never gone along with that shit she said, right? I was just going to play along until—until—”

I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Matt.” Some part of me really wants to believe he never would have taken things further, but I don’t need to know either way. What’s done is done.

“She was blackmailing me,” he blurts out, face pale. His hair has grown out a little. He must’ve stopped shaving it so often for the amount of stubble to be so noticeable all over his scalp. “She found out that I was—” he breaks off with a frustrated sigh. “I was using performance enhancers. She found out and threatened to tell Coach if I didn’t pretend to date her and help her out at homecoming. I swear I didn’t know what she wanted to do until I had already gotten you into the equipment room, Harlow! I wouldn’t have brought you there if I knew.”

My eyes narrow. “You were using steroids?”

Matt nods reluctantly, guilt plain on his face. “It’s why I’m so goddamn hairy right now. Side-effects.” He rolls up his sleeve to show off a forearm covered in dark hair, then laughs self-deprecatingly and tugs the sleeve back down. “I couldn’t keep up with those boys of yours. Especially the Harpers. I really needed a sports scholarship… Anna threatened to take it all away.”

I swallow thickly. “And now you’ve gotten kicked off the team anyway.”

He blinks quickly, nodding. His chin wobbles as he says, “I promise I’ll leave you alone from now on. I just—you didn’t deserve that.” A tear trails down his cheek and he ducks his head with an embarrassed noise. “Sorry.”

Against my will, I pity Matt Dahmer.

I lean against the doorframe and mumble, “Anna is a poisonous bitch.”

Matt barks out a strangled laugh, voice thick with emotion as he agrees, “Yeah, she is.”

“Bryant is going to file a restraining order against you.” I don’t know why I tell him that, but it feels like the right thing to say.

Matt doesn’t look angry at all, just sad and ashamed. He nods in grim understanding. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. I don’t blame you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, exhaustion suddenly weighing down my shoulders.

Matt sniffs and nods. “I won’t bother you again. My parents are sending me to a private school in Kentucky, so you won’t have to worry about me again—not,” he quickly adds, “that I would ever try anything again. _Ever_.”

A half-amused scoff leaves my mouth unbidden. “Got it. Bye, then…” I edge around Matt, leaving him in the hallway where the restrooms are.

When I exit the hallway and head back toward the main dining room, I find Beck in the waiting area leaning casually against the wall between a potted plant and a bench. His expression switches between worry, anger, relief as he looks up.

He walks close, lowering his head to stare down at me. He whispers, “I was worried. Needed to make sure he didn’t…”

I nod in understanding, throat tight. “Thank you,” I choke out.

Beck places his hand on my lower back and leads me back to the table, where the adults are drinking coffee and Jax is destroying sugar packets and creamer pods while the rest of the guys egg him on. When Beck and I sit back down, he places his hand on my thigh, like Kieran did earlier. I let him leave it there, and even muster up the courage to worm my hand under his and lace our fingers together on my thigh.

He squeezes my fingers. I squeeze back.


	25. Rick the Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter, lovelies!!! I have a few things to update everyone on:
> 
> 1\. Yes, this story will be part of a series. I have the rest of the first book plotted out completely - writing it is another issue, though LOL. 
> 
> 2\. I do plan on professionally publishing this work eventually (a LOT of editing is going to need to be done once I finish writing it, though). As I am writing/proofreading/editing this independently, the finalized version of this work will probably not be published until I finish the ENTIRE series. We'll see, though. 
> 
> 3\. I have absolutely EVIL things planned for the upcoming chapters. And by my definition of "evil," these plans may or may not be positive.... or smexy. ;)
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

The arrival of November brings two things: a) football scouting season and b) Adrian’s dad.

The CU Boulder football recruiters come to a Laurier home-game—the _last_ game of the season—on the first Friday in November. The field was salted and heated earlier that day, so all of the snow is gone by the time school ends. Beck and the rest of the guys are nervous as all hell during our classes; they can’t seem to sit still, constantly spacing out.

I have to eventually reach over and put my hand on Beck’s leg during Calculus so that it’ll stop bouncing. He gives me a tense smile in return and pokes my hand with a pen.

Jax looks like he’s going to throw up during lunch. He doesn’t eat anything—none of the guys do, really. They just pick at their trays, lightly piled with salads and easily digestible dishes.

The football team gets called out of class after lunch, and P.E. gets cancelled to allow the football players to use the gym to warm up in. Even though Laurier’s football field is game-ready, there’s still snow outside. If I had balls, they would have frozen off by now.

I waste time in the library, sitting near a window this time so that I can watch the football field. At around four o’clock, I see cars start to stream into the school’s parking lot; parents of rival team players and students from the rival school wander around Laurier’s campus, trying to navigate their way to the football field. I debate just staying inside during the game; I know that the guys want me to come watch them play, but I really don’t want to freeze my ass off on metal bleachers for over an hour.

I end up not having a choice, because my phone buzzes on the table next to me.

 **Beck:** _Get your ass down here now._

A minute later, the group chat with all of the guys blows up.

 **Jax:** _Don’t test us, Low. We will come get you._

 **Kieran:** _I’m sweaty from running drills. Maybe she needs a hug?_

 **Adrian:** _Make it a group hug. Mike didn’t have time to shower after practice this morning, so he reeks._

 **Mike:** _Here that, Low? I REEK!!!!! Be very scared._

***********

Bryant passes me a blanket when I find him and my mom in the bleachers. I take it and cocoon myself up, trying to shift my skirt under my thighs so that the freezing metal doesn’t seep through my tights.

“I got you a hot chocolate, sweetie,” Mom says, passing me a steaming cup.

“Why are there games when it’s this cold outside?” I wrap my fingers around it and look out at the field. The teams haven’t come out yet, but you know football players—always about the dramatics.

Bryant chuckles and drapes a blanket over him and Mom. Gross. “There’s nothing else to do. There have been talks about building an indoor stadium up here at Laurier, but there haven’t been enough donations yet.”

From the side of the bleachers, near where the gym part of the school is, cheerleaders dressed in the Laurier Leopards colors come sprinting out. Their tiny blue and black outfits make me shiver in their stead. Couldn’t they have worn sweatpants today? Their team is pretty sparse now, only consisting of fifteen girls or so, as Anna and the rest of the Harpies have since been removed from Laurier.

When the football team streams out behind the cheerleaders and the Laurier Leopards mascot, my eyes immediately find Beck. The _85_ on the back of his jersey is identifiable, as are the words _Harper #1_. Next to Beck’s towering form is Mike—I know it’s him, because of the _Harper #2_ on his jersey.

Jamie bounces up the bleachers and takes a seat next to me, trying to steal my blanket. “It’s cold!” She’s wearing a silver puffer jacket over her uniform, but she shivers dramatically anyway.

I reluctantly share with her. “I thought you weren’t coming to the game today. Didn’t you say that your dad is in town?”

Jamie nods, pouting a bit. Her curly hair is wild around her head and she pats it down. “He’s running late. I can stay to watch for a little while.”

The team jogs to sit on the bench in front of the bleachers as the rival school’s team marches out, escorted by their own mascot and cheerleaders. Their uniforms are orange and red, but I don’t pay enough attention to them to care what their mascot is, or which school they’re from.

One of Laurier’s players rips off his helmet, exposing bright orange hair. Jax grins widely, swinging his head around as he yells, “Harlow! Where’re you at, boo?”

In my periphery, I see Mom shoot a look at me. I ignore her and stand up, clutching the blanket around my shoulders as I yell back, “Shut up, you freckled crackhead! Aren’t you supposed to be focusing or something?”

All of Jax’s teeth show in his smile. He waves wildly at me. “Come down here! You can sit with us!”

I shake my head. “No way! You guys are disgusting.” Parents and students around me laugh. I flush and plop back down on my seat.

Bryant laughs lowly and pats me on the back. “I don’t know what you’ve done to that kid, Harlow, but he seems happier lately.”

I glance at Bryant in puzzlement. “How so?”

Bryant tilts his head as the announcer’s voice booms over the field, indicating the start of the game. “Jackson has always been… troubled.” Bryant smiles at me quickly. “I’m glad you two get along. He needs someone in his life who’s not a pushover.”

I have no idea what that means, but my attention gets diverted as the teams dart out onto the field with the referees.

***********

Soon after Jamie rushes off to meet her dad, Laurier wins the game with a score of 30-5. It’s the fastest I’ve ever seen the guys decimate another team; judging by the victorious cries coming from Laurier’s side of the field, the guys are proud of themselves. I have a feeling that Beck—who single-handedly scored 17 out of 30 points—influenced the game’s outcome exponentially.

I try to surreptitiously seek him out in the mess of players on the field. Most of the players are jogging away, likely headed toward the locker rooms to change. People stream down the bleachers, parents talking loudly and exclaiming proudly or disappointedly about the game. I spot Beck standing next to Coach Schmidt and two tall men dressed in nice suits. Beck is standing straight, eyes sharp as he nods and replies to one of the men.

Bryant nudges my shoulder. “Your mom and I are going to go speak with Principal Edwards for a few minutes.” He nods his head up the bleachers, toward where Principal Edwards is speaking to a few other parents. “You can go wait inside the school for us. The guys should be done changing in a few minutes.

I nod and descend the bleachers, almost running through the courtyard in an attempt to not freeze. I still have the blanket wrapped around my shoulders when I enter the school. I make a beeline for the hallway where the locker rooms are and lean against the wall a few yards away from the men’s locker room, rubbing my hands together to regain feeling in my fingers.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike is the first one out of the locker room. He grins at me and walks over to mess up my hair. “Did you see how amazing we were today?”

I swat at him. “You were okay, I _guess_.”

He growls playfully and tries to steal the blanket from around my shoulders. “How come you get to be warm? I was freezing my ass off out there the whole time.”

Adrian walks out, hair damp from the shower. He takes the blanket from Mike and plops it on top of my head. “Are you bullying short people again, Michael?”

I protest and aim a kick at Adrian’s shin. “I’m not short, dickweed!”

Adrian chuckles and dances away, but his eyes stray to Mike. Something darkens in Adrian’s blue gaze, making it almost molten as he looks over Mike, who is staring back at Adrian with similar look.

I frown. “What’s up with you two?”

Mike blinks quickly, clearing his throat. He tears his gaze away from Adrian. “What? Nothing.”

“No,” I say slowly, motioning between them. “That was definitely _something_.”

Adrian coughs and scuffs his shoe on the ground. “I think Mike forgot to show me that _thing_ earlier. For History—right, Mike?”

Mike nods jerkily, dark eyes blowing wide. “Right! That thing.”

My lip curls. “You guys suck at being subtle.”

Adrian grins at me and pokes my forehead. He glances up and down the hallway, finding it empty other than us. “Cover for us, Low? Please?” He takes ahold of Mike’s arm and starts to drag him down the hallway, toward the STEM classrooms.

I blink. “Where are you going—we’re supposed to be leaving soon!” I raise my voice at the end so that they can hear me.

Adrian calls over his shoulder, “Thanks, Low!”

I rack my brain for a reason that they could be running off. I’ve got nothing, though—

My face feels hot, and I lean back against the wall. Adrian and Mike are running off to… do… something. Hopefully just kissing. Definitely just kissing, maybe holding hands. I don’t want to acknowledge the other possibilities flashing through my mind.

They’d better not be fucking in any of the classrooms I have classes in. Ew.

Kieran and Jax walk out of the locker room behind a crowd of tall boys. Kieran comes to stand beside me. “What’s up with you?”

I tear my eyes away from the hallway Adrian and Mike just disappeared down. “Nothing! Where’s Beck?”

Jax steals the blanket from me and hugs it to his chest, a pout on his lips. “He’s the team captain. Has to talk to the Suits.”

Kieran speaks up, “He means the recruiters. They wanted to talk to coach and Beck about how the game went.”

I bite my lip hopefully. “Do you think they’ll offer you guys spots on the team at CU Boulder?”

Jax shrugs, leaning back against the wall. “Who knows? They don’t announce sports scholarships until January or February, so…”

“Even if we don’t get to play ball during college, we’re all still going to Boulder.” Kieran smiles at me widely. “I’m not as passionate about football as Beck is, so I don’t really care either way.”

“Adrian needs a scholarship, though,” Jax mutters.

I swallow thickly and elbow him until his green eyes meet mine. “Why are you being so negative? Aren’t you supposed to be the unrealistically optimistic one in this family dynamic?”

Jax’s expression brightens, and he wraps me in a suffocating hug. “Are you finally embracing the family dynamic?! Harlow!”

Footsteps down the hallway from the direction of the courtyard entrance make me turn my head. Coach Schmidt walks with the two men dressed in suits, Beck trailing behind them in his football uniform. His temples and hair are slick with sweat, a wide grin on his face as he notices me and the guys.

“My office if this way, gentlemen, if you would like to speak somewhere more private,” Coach Schmidt says, leading the men past us down the hall.

One of the men turns around and offers Beck a smile. “You’ll be hearing from us in a few months, kid. Good game today, guys,” he directs the last part at Kieran and Jax.

Jax looks like he’s about to combust, but Kieran says, “Thank you, sir.” The men leave with Coach Schmidt.

Beck lingers next to me and meets my eyes. The widest grin I’ve ever seen on him splits his face, eyes bright. “They liked what they saw tonight.”

Jax wrings his hands nervously. “Did they only mention you, or did they seem to like anyone else?”

Beck claps him on the shoulder with the hand not clutching his helmet. “They said the whole team played well. Coach Dunnigan—he’s the one with brown hair—said Boulder has twenty scholarships to give out for next school year, and he said he’d put in a good word for us since we play well together already.”

I share a grin with Kieran as Jax visibly sags against the wall. “I hate this shit, man. It’s like I’m walking to my own execution every time I think about college.”

Kieran snorts. “It’s not like you have to worry about getting into college. Your parents can afford for you to go pretty much anywhere.”

“Yeah, but I like to at least _pretend_ to be humble!” Jax tries to smack Kieran’s head.

Beck tosses a set of keys at Kieran, who catches them. “You guys can go get into the car. Where’d Mikey and Adrian run off to?” He whips his head around curiously. “They’re not still showering, are they?”

Jax frowns, but I speak up quickly before he can comment. “They had to go get something from one of the classrooms. I think Adrian said he forgot his notebook somewhere?”

Nice save, Harlow.

Beck quirks a brow. “He never leaves anything behind, though—”

“Well, I guess he did today.” I laugh forcefully. It’s a bad attempt at nonchalance.

Jax and Kieran seem to accept it, though, and gladly head down the hallway toward the school’s entrance. Beck lingers in the hall, standing so close to me. I can smell fresh sweat on him, this musky scent that makes me want to lick his neck, just to see if I can taste it.

Intending to follow after Kieran and Jax, I gesture at Beck’s damp hair and avoid his eyes. “Aren’t you going to shower?”

He leans close, a smirk tugging up his lip. “Where’s my dad? I saw him and Rachel sitting with you earlier.”

I swallow and lean away. “They were talking to Principal Edwards, I think.”

Beck’s finger and thumb gently grab my chin, tilting my head up so that my eyes are forced to meet his. His pupils are blown wide, eyes so dark I’m half afraid for my life, half excited at his expression. He looks _hungry_. “You know the best part about winning a game?” he murmurs, leaning so close that his breath brushes over my lips.

A hitched laugh leaves me, and I glance up and down the hallway. No one else is here. “What?”

Beck’s lips curl upward more, a low noise leaving his throat. “The adrenaline always makes me want to _fuck_.”

The way his lips completely wrap around that word…

My eyes go wide and my lips part. I gasp out, “Why would you tell me that?”

He chuckles darkly and lets go of my chin, leaning back. “You react so nicely, it’s hard not to.”

“You’re an asshole!” Ignoring the ache between my legs at his words, I force a scowl and swat his chest. The chest pads under his uniform are firm and unyielding.

He leans close once more, pressing his lips to mine in a quick move that makes me squeak. When he leans away, his grin is victorious, gloating. He moves toward the locker room, saying, “Too easy, Harlow. Too easy.”

I throw expletives at his back as he disappears from my view. I bring my fingers up to my lips, leaning back against the wall as I wait for him to reappear. My heart pounds loudly in my ears, my cheeks are hot.

What was _that_? What the fuck _was_ that, Beckett Harper? Why did he just kiss me—again—where anyone could have seen it?

What the fuck?

By the time Bryant and my mom reappear, I still have no idea what Beck was thinking. The only thing I _do_ know is that I can’t let it happen again.

The wedding is only a few months away. We can’t kiss ever again. We just can’t.

***********

I sleep like the dead after the game. Dad invited all the guys over, but Jax had a date with Amy, Kieran needed to do laundry or something domestic, and Adrian wanted to eat dinner with his mom. I didn’t see much of Mike after we get home, either; he disappeared to his room right after dinner and stayed shut up in there for the rest of the night. I would have knocked on his door and forced him to play video games with me, but I’m pretty sure he’s masturbating.

I wasn’t lying when I told Harlow that football makes you horny.

Harlow avoided me too. At least I understand why she was absent, though. I would almost think I took it too far by kissing her in the hallway after the game, but I’m pretty sure she only pretended to be mad at me. Her cheeks get so red when she’s embarrassed—it makes me want to tease her more.

Bad thoughts.

I’m sound asleep when the loud pounding on my door wakes me up. I push up on the bed and blearily look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s barely three o’clock in the morning.

Rubbing my eyes and yawning, I stumble to the door and open it. “What?”

Dad stands in the hallway, shirtless and gripping his cellphone. His face is serious as he says, “Don’t panic. I need you to get dressed and meet me downstairs in a few minutes. We need to go to the hospital.”

I’m suddenly wide awake. I demand, “What happened?”

Dad presses his lips together grimly and sighs. “Rick Mitchel got back tonight.”

Dad moves down the hall to knock on Mike’s door, but I follow him. “Is Adrian okay?”

My chest heaves as memories of bruises around Adrian’s throat, his wrists, come to mind. Rick has never broken any bones before, but I’m not stupid enough to think he’s incapable of much worse. The memory of Adrian’s bruised vertebrae and ribs from last time—was that really under two months ago?—causes a shiver to rush down my spine.

Mike opens his door, squinting at the bright light in the hallway. “Huh?” He yawns.

Dad tells Mike the same thing he told me, before answering my question with, “I don’t know. Helen put me as her emergency contact, so the hospital called me a few minutes ago. The nurse just told me to come quickly—no mention of Adrian.”

Mike grabs onto Dad’s shirt, face pale. “You don’t know if he’s okay?” His hands shake, breath stuttering out of his chest.

I frown at Mike. He looks like he’s on the edge of a panic attack—something he hasn’t had since he was twelve. I grab his neck and bring him into my arms roughly. “Adrian’s probably fine, Mikey. He’ll be fine.”

When my eyes meet Dad’s over Mike’s shoulder, and I take in the grim set of his mouth, the uncertainty swimming in his eyes, it feels like I’ve just lied.

**********

Mom wakes me up at three o’clock in the morning for no apparent reason. She just says, “The boys are going to the hospital. Do you want to wait up with me here, or go with them?”

I frown and get out of bed, patting my hair down as I follow her downstairs to the living room. Mom takes a seat on the couch, anxiously watching the staircase. I hear footsteps walking around on the third floor. “Why are they going to the hospital?”

Mom’s expression is annoyed—no worry present. I don’t understand what’s going on. “Bryant hasn’t told me yet. Something to do with Adrian’s father? It’s probably not a big deal.” She waves a hand dismissively.

My heart stops in my chest and I glare at her. “Adrian’s dad is back? What happened?”

She shoots me an irritated glare. “If I knew, I would have told you already, Harlow.”

I open my mouth to respond, but Bryant, Mike, and Beck storm down the stairs before I can. They’re all fully dressed, Bryant hastily pulling his arms through a jacket. As he passes the living room to head to the garage, he calls out to Mom, “We’ll be back in a bit!”

I catch Beck’s sleeve as he passes. He looks like he’s about to either go batshit insane or break apart. “Text me.”

He swallows thickly and nods. “I will.” He pats my hair—which is probably wild from sleeping, but I’m too distracted right now to be embarrassed—and then drags a pale Mike behind him to the garage.

I watch them go, knowing that I won’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

***********

About an hour after the guys left, Mom wanders upstairs. I scowl after her. How fucking selfish can she be? All she’s done is complain about being woken up since Bryant and the boys left. She’s more concerned about herself than Adrian—who could be really injured right now.

Or worse.

All I’ve done since they left is worry. I’ve paced up and down the living room over and over again, quickly rushed to my room to grab my phone, then resumed alternatively pacing and sitting on the couch, watching the driveway out the window for any sign that the guys are back.

At almost five o’clock, I get a text.

 **Beck:** _Adrian is okay. Helen is in the ICU, though. Jax and Kieran are coming to the house to wait until we get back._

I blow out a relieved breath. Adrian is all right. I type out a reply.

 **Harlow:** _I hope Helen will be okay. I’ll unlock the front door for the guys._

 **Beck:** _Thank you._

***********

Adrian’s hand and wrist are in a bandage. He has a darkening bruise blooming over his jaw and cheekbone, a small cut on the corner of his mouth. Otherwise, he appears totally fine.

Helen Mitchel is another story. From what I saw through the window of her hospital room in the ICU, she’s not doing very well. Her entire face is black and blue, both of her arms in casts, as well as one of her legs. She had surgery earlier this morning to put pins in her thigh.

Rick the Dick broken her goddamn femur. She’s in a medically induced coma for right now, but she’ll be in a lot of pain once she wakes up.

In the waiting room, Adrian leans his head against Mike’s shoulder, clutching Mike’s hand with his unbandaged one.

“Why didn’t you call us as soon as you got home?” Mike asks quietly, eyeing Dad across the room as he speaks in a low voice to a few police officers. “Why did you even go inside the trailer, if you knew he was home?”

Rick Mitchel was arrested tonight for domestic violence—not for the first time, either. Dad mentioned that Rick may even be charged with attempted murder, depending on how the prosecutor views tonight’s events; Dad seems positive that Rick’s not going to make bail this time, though, and that he’ll actually go to prison. I overheard Dad tell Adrian earlier that he would represent Adrian and his mom pro bono if they want to sue Rick.

Adrian sniffs tiredly and sighs. “I didn’t know he was coming home tonight. He showed up after dinner. Broke my phone too.”

I scrub a hand over my face and meet Adrian’s eyes. “You’re staying with us until your mom gets better, okay? Fuck, this is such bullshit.”

“I want to fucking kill him,” Mike hisses, hand squeezing over Adrian’s.

Adrian winces and pats Mike on the chest with his bandaged hand, straightening. “My knuckles are bruised, man. Gentle.”

His hand is bandaged because he beat the shit out of Rick before the cops got to the trailer, apparently. I’m going to have to teach him how to punch better, though, because the idiot sprained one of his wrists and busted his knuckles up. I’m still proud as hell of Adrian.

Mike does the oddest thing. He pulls Adrian’s hand back and presses a kiss to his knuckles, eyes closing briefly. I frown, but decide not to comment. Tonight has been weird enough already.

I clear my throat and lean back in my seat across from them, crossing my arms. “Helen’s surgery went okay?”

Adrian shoots me a guilty look and tears his arm away from Mike, who scowls. “She’ll be fine. The doctor said she’ll probably have to go through physical therapy once she heals more, though.” Adrian scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know how we’re going to afford it, man. She barely has any medical insurance right now.”

“Dad will cover it,” Mike says firmly. He grips the longer top part of his hair and meets my eyes with a stubborn expression. “I’ll make him.”

I nod. “We’ll take care of everything, Adrian. Don’t worry right now.”

Dad bids the police officers goodbye and comes over to take the seat next to me. He leans across the small isle and pats Adrian’s knee. “You doing okay, kid?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Harper. Thank you for coming so quickly—I know you all were probably sleeping.” Adrian scoots his chair subtly away from Mike’s. My eyes narrow.

Dad makes a dismissive noise and waves a hand. “It’s fine, Adrian. I’m just glad you’re okay. Helen will heal up quickly too,” he adds the last part, as if he needs to reassure Adrian. “And you’re like a son to me, so I would worry if the hospital _hadn’t_ called me.”

Mike snorts and sinks low in his chair, face set in a sulk. “Hear that? You’re like a _son_.”

Adrian hisses something quietly and elbows Mike. To Dad, he says, “Thanks anyway.”

Dad nods and stands again. “I’ll go check with the nurse’s station one more time. You should be cleared to leave already, but I just want to make sure.”

Adrian covers a yawn and tilts his head back, letting his eyes fall closed briefly. The dark smudges under his eyes indicate how long he’s been awake.

It’s been a long night. Looking out the small window in the waiting room, I can see that the sun has risen for the most part. A quick glance at my phone reveals that it’s nearing seven o’clock.

“I want to go to sleep,” Mike mumbles, closing his eyes as well. He leans over the arm rests of his and Adrian’s seats, shoulder brushing Adrian’s.

That’s it.

I clear my throat and sit forward. “What the hell is up with you two today?”

Adrian’s eyes fly open wide and he breaks the contact with Mike. “What do you mean?”

A scowl rises to my mouth at the nervousness in his voice. “You two have been awfully _touchy_ tonight.”

Thinking back, they disappeared after the game last night too. I had to wait around for them for almost half an hour after I got done showering. That damn notebook Adrian lost must’ve taken forever to find.

Like I believe that shit.

Mike’s spine is stiff as he glares at me. “No, we haven’t. Stop trying to make everything into something it’s not.”

I glare at him. “Don’t take attitude with me, man. You’re the shittiest liar in the world. What the fuck is up?”

Adrian whispers to Mike, “Maybe we should just tell him.”

“Tell me _what_?” I demand, getting increasingly tired of the game.

They’re hiding something.

Mike ignores Adrian and sneers at me. “Butt out, _Beckett_. You may act like my dad, but you’re not actually my father.”

I debate punching him in his smug little face. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, _Michael_?” I stand, Mike mimicking me. “Watch your goddamn tone, you little shit.” I poke Mike in the chest harshly.

He growls, getting in my face. “Fuck off—”

“Stop!” Adrian puts a hand on Mike’s chest and shoves him back, stepping between us. His eyes meet mine, full of anxiety. “Mike and I are—”

“Shut _up_ , Adrian!” Mike hisses, tugging him back by his shirt.

Adrian glowers at him and brushes his hand off. “He needs to know, Mike! This has gone on for long enough—”

Mike leans close to Adrian, dark eyes flickering to mine briefly. “It’s none of his business—”

“Okay.” I hold up a hand, patience completely depleted. “What the hell is going on?”

Mike protests, but Adrian meets my eyes and firmly states, “Beck, your brother and I are dating.”

I wait a beat for him to stop looking so serious, and then laugh disbelievingly when he doesn’t give, rolling my eyes. “Funny. Seriously, guys. Just tell me what’s going on—"

“He’s not lying.” Mike scowls at me, hands clenched into fists at his side. His eyes are defensive, angry as he meets my gaze.

All the humor evaporates from my expression. I look at Adrian, who looks like he’s going to throw up, then back to Mike, who could either be debating kicking my ass or crying. “Are you being serious right now? You’re _dating_?”

Mike swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah.”

“Adrian?” I move my gaze to him, almost pleading. This can’t be true, right?

Adrian’s lips tremble as he also nods, saying, “We’re together.”

“But—” I pause, taking a deep breath and looking away as my mind races. “But he’s _Mike_!” I gesture helplessly to my brother. “As much as I love the dude, couldn’t you find someone who’s _not_ a complete idiot?”

Mike exclaims, “Hey! You share the same genetics, dickwad—”

“I know!” I throw my hands up. “That’s how I know that there are better dudes out there.” I take a deep breath and meet Adrian’s eyes head-on. “I didn’t know you were gay—I never noticed anything. Why have you waited this long to bring it up?”

He shrugs, glancing at Mike nervously. “I just never found the right time. If it makes you feel any better, Harlow only figured it out the night of homecoming.”

“Wait— _Harlow_ knows too? What the fuck, you guys?” I rake a hand through my hair, squinting skeptically at Mike. “Why didn’t _you_ say anything?”

Mike scuffs his shoe against the floor, grumbling, “You always make a big deal out of everything. I didn’t want you to, like, hate me or something—”

“You thought I would be mad,” I sum up what he’s saying. My stomach churns at the thought that my own brother trusted me so little—I’m being selfish, I realize. This isn’t about _me_ —it’s about Mike and Adrian. I sigh, looking between them. “How long has this been going on?”

Adrian coughs a little and avoids my eyes. “Oh, I don’t know—”

“Maybe sophomore year?” Mike suggests thoughtfully. He shrugs. “We didn’t fuck until recently—”

I hold up my hand to stop him, shooting a death glare at Adrian. “Wait! You _fucked_ my little brother?”

Adrian makes a panicked noise, elbowing Mike. His head bobs reluctantly. “Uh, yes? I mean—”

“He is _sixteen_ years old!” I shove a finger at Mike.

Adrian protests, “He’s almost seventeen—”

“You fucked a minor—”

“Adrian’s seventeen still!” Mike interjects, placing a hand over Adrian’s chest. Mike hisses at me, “Besides, you have no say in who can fuck who. I totally know that you and Harlow were doing the dirty a few weeks ago—”

“I have _not_ fucked Harlow.” Thoughts don’t count, do they?

“You fucked Harlow?” Adrian gapes at me. “When was this?”

I groan. “I just said we haven’t—”

“It was the day that Prescott started shit in P.E.” Mike provides unhelpfully. He shoots me an evil look. “They totally stayed locked up in Harlow’s bedroom for almost two hours.”

“We didn’t do anything, though!”

Adrian squints at me. “Harlow’s going to be your stepsister, Beck… That’s just wrong.” I know the bastard is teasing me because his fucking lip twitches.

“God, you two suck,” I complain.

“We swallow too.” Mike grins.

I grimace in disgust. “Dude, that’s way too much information.”

Adrian elbows Mike, neck flushed. “Don’t push it.” To me, he says, “What _did_ you and Harlow do? And why were you in her bedroom?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“I hate you so fucking much,” I deadpan.

“He kissed her on the night of homecoming too,” Mike pipes in, plopping back in his seat. He shoots me a sadistic grin and whispers mockingly, “It was her _first_ kiss.”

Adrian’s mouth drops open. “Beckett Harper!”

I sit back down and cover my burning face.

Fucking assholes, that’s what my friends are. Pricks.

***********

When the guys get back to the house, I’m in the middle of tensely making pancakes for Jax and Kieran. Beck walks into the kitchen first, followed by Mike and a roughed up Adrian.

I swallow a gasp at the sight of Adrian’s bruised face and the bandage on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Adrian shoots me and the rest of the guys a short smile. “I’m good. My mom’s in rough shape, but the doctor thinks she’ll be able to leave the hospital in a few weeks.”

“He’s going to stay here until she gets discharged,” Mike says, stealing a pancake off of the tray near the stove.

I swat him away and point to the dining table, where more pancakes and plates are set out. “That’s good, I guess.”

Beck walks over the sink and leans against it as Jax cries dramatically and cradles Adrian to his chest, stammering out, “I thought you were dead, Mom!” Kieran and Mike watch on with barely concealed amusement.

Beck is pale, but he has a furrow between his brows as he watches his friends be idiots.

I nudge him with my arm as I pour more batter into the pan. “What’s up with you?”

Beck’s eyes are troubled as he leans close. His lips brush my ear as he whispers, “Why didn’t you tell me that Mike and Adrian are dating?”

I jerk back in surprised, surreptitiously glancing over at the boys. I hiss back, “They’re _dating_?”

Beck shrugs. “I guess.”

I peek at him. “And what do you think about that?”

Beck’s not a homophobe, right? Am I going to have to murder him?

He grabs a pancake from the platter I’m building up and bites into it, mumbling, “I know way too much now.”

I pat him on the shoulder, relieved that he’s not a total asshole. Just mostly. “Me too. Did Adrian tell you about _the book_ yet—or was it Mike?”

“Fucking hell,” Beck groans in disgust. “That goddamn book. Why did they have to be so goddamn _graphic_ too? I never needed to know that shit.”

I laugh. “It’s a good book, though.”

He tears off a chunk of pancake and lobs it at my head. “I hate you for corrupting my innocent brother.”

I just laugh again, choosing not to comment that _Beck_ has been the one corrupting _me_ the most.


	26. King of All the Panties at Laurier Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ~ !

When I walk downstairs on the second Sunday morning of November, the sight of wedding decorations feels like a slap to the face. Strewn all over the couches and coffee tables in the living room are fake flowers, receipts for _real_ flowers, wedding planners filled with detailed notations of when cakes will be delivered to the venue and which guests have already RSVPed. Pink and white decorative napkins and fake flower petals are scattered around where Mom sits on the loveseat with Bryant. They’re arguing.

“But I already ordered the arrangement in this color scheme,” Mom is saying, eyes peeved as she glares at Bryant.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s on his last nerve. It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning. “Rach, I thought we were going with a silver scheme. You told me that three weeks ago—that’s why I had a tie special ordered.”

“You never listen to me!” Mom cries, standing from the couch and throwing a sample bouquet of flowers at Bryant’s lap. “I specifically told you that we were going with a pink scheme!”

“Why did you have to choose that color?” Bryant groans, brushing the bouquet to the ground. His eyes snag on where I linger at the base of the staircase. He grimaces. “Sorry for the mess, kid. Watch your step.”

I hesitantly pick my way across the room toward the kitchen doorway, sneering at the godawful amount of pink everywhere. What the hell is Mom thinking?

“Harlow!” Mom scolds harshly. My head snaps up. She gestures at the ground next to my foot where a pile of tulle sits, hissing menacingly, “Don’t you dare ruin that with your clumsiness.”

Well, _that’s_ out of nowhere.

I blink and pointedly step over the tulle. “Geez. You need to chill out.” I try to escape to the kitchen, but she’s across the room and gripping my elbow before I can leave.

“Watch your tone,” Mom says. She jerks my elbow roughly until I meet her eyes. “I will not have you ruining this for me, you ungrateful brat.”

I frown at her and try to yank my arm back. She grips tighter. “Ow! What the fuck is your problem? I wasn’t planning on ruining anything—”

“You’ve been trying to sabotage me since we moved here!” Mom bares her teeth at me and sways on her feet. I wince away from the look in her eyes. She looks like she’s not all there, like she’s either blind with rage or—

The sharp stench of alcohol on her breath pulls me up short. I scowl and finally am able to tear my arm away. “You’ve been drinking already? It’s literally not even noon yet!”

Bryant clears his throat and picks his way across the room. “Rachel, maybe you should take a seat. Let Harlow grab some breakfast.”

My eyes meet his. He looks exhausted—and angry as he glances at my mom. “Why is she drinking this early?”

Bryant’s mouth sets grimly. “You tell me.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not even here!” Mom raises her voice, whipping around to look at Bryant. “All you do is condescend me—”

“Rachel, you really need to stop before you start—”

“Shut up!” Mom screams, hands balled into fists at her sides. Her boobs almost fall out of the neckline of her shirt as she bounces on the balls of her feet.

It’s horrifying to watch, like she’s a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“You need to cool off, Mom.” I edge away from her, toward the kitchen door.

Her brown eyes—which used to resemble mine so closely, but which now look completely foreign—swing to me. Spittle flies from her lips as she says, “Don’t talk back to me, Harlow! I am so over the attitude you’ve had lately!”

This again? I sneer. “What attitude? You’re the only one here with a goddamn attitude, you psychopath—”

My neck creaks as my head snaps to the side. Pain radiates from my cheek, down my neck and into my shoulder. I bring a hand up to cradle my cheek, peeking at Mom in shock through my hair. Did she just fucking hit me—again?

“Rachel!” Bryant rumbles, rushing over to grab ahold of Mom’s hand.

She strains against him, hands swinging as she tries to hit me again. Her eyes are wide, infuriated, as she screams, “I wish you were never born! All you do is try to ruin _everything_! Everything!”

Eyes, stinging, I can’t stop myself from screaming back, “The only one ruining anything here is _you_!”

“Calm down!” Bryant shouts, barely restraining Mom. He calls out over his shoulder, “Beckett! Michael—somebody get down here and help me, dammit!”

Footsteps thud on the stairs. My palm itches for violence, so I squeeze my hand into a fist. I don’t need to hit Mom back. I’m not that petty.

Not yet.

Mom is still raging at me, “All I’m trying to do is build a new family for myself, and you’re destroying everything! Why can’t you just leave, huh? You’re an inconvenience—just fucking _leave_!”

“Rachel!” Bryant exclaims, shocked.

My chest hurts.

“What the _fuck_?” Beck demands, storming down the stairs with Mike and Adrian on his heels. They’re all wearing pajama pants, all shirtless.

I barely notice them. My throat feels thick, eyes burning. “What did you just say?” I ask quietly, lips numb.

Mom elbows out of Bryant’s hold and raises her hand to slap me again. Beck rushes over and grips her wrist before she can make contact, but she still hisses, “How dare you try to ruin my _one_ chance at—”

“Your one chance at what?” I choke out a bitter laugh. “You’re one chance at a _new_ family, right? Isn’t that what you said?” I back into the wall next to the kitchen doorway, leaning heavily. “You just can’t _wait_ to replace me?” Over Mom’s shoulders, my eyes meet Mike’s, then Adrian’s. Pity shines brightly on both of their faces.

Beck glowers angrily at Mom. “She didn’t mean it like that, Harlow—”

“But she did!” I gasp out another laugh, this one bordering on hysterics. My cheeks feel damp, eyes locked on Mom. “You seriously think you can just get a new family and fucking ditch me! Just like you did to Dad!” I end up screaming the last part.

Mom screams in my face, “Is that such a bad thing to want?! For me to be _happy_ for once in my life?!”

“Yes! It fucking is, you selfish bitch!” A sob escapes my chest and I shove at Mom’s shoulders roughly. She falls back with a curse.

Bryant catches her. His face is pale, eyes horrified as he stares at Mom. “What is _wrong_ with you today? Huh?”

I don’t stay to hear her reply. I dart around Mike and Adrian, ignoring Beck’s call of my name. I book it up the stairs, nearly tripping on the second floor landing as I escape back to my bedroom.

Inside, I slam and lock the door, then escape to the bathroom and lock that door as well. I end up curled up against the bathtub, bending over my knees and hyperventilating. I hear noises coming from outside my room, but I feel overstimulated, like there’s too much noise going on in my head.

She wants to replace me. I thought I was just projecting insecure bullshit since we moved here. Never in a million years did I _actually_ think my own mother would want to _replace_ me.

But she does. She said it herself. She wants to marry Bryant, get a new husband and new kids, and then fucking forget that I ever existed in the first place.

She’s already forgotten that Dad existed at all. She doesn’t care about him.

And she sure as fuck doesn’t care about me.

************

“Low, open the door,” Beck pleads quietly from the hallway outside my bedroom.

I want to hate him. I really do. Mom wants to replace me with Mike and Beck—who are so much better kid-wise than I will ever be. They’re both athletic, male, so academically accomplished that sometimes I have no idea how we’re even in the same classes. They’re going places—to CU Boulder, where Beck will become some big college athlete and Mike will figure out a cure to cancer or something amazing like that. They don’t have to worry about funding college, or finding a place to live as soon as they graduate high school. They don’t have to worry about Bryant kicking them out or cutting off contact with them while he pursues a new family.

Bryant is a good dad in comparison to my mom. He would never consider uprooting his kids’ lives for a woman, would never do half of the things that my mom has done. As mad as Beck gets at Bryant for overworking, he’s really a good dad. Or he tries to be, at least. That should count.

My mom isn’t a good parent—not anymore. I don’t know if she’s ever been a good parent, to be honest.

Good parents don’t willingly admit that they’re trying to replace their kid with a bigger, better family. Good parents don’t throw away their morality and their parental responsibilities in the pursuance of money and sex. Good parents don’t fucking forget that their daughter _exists_.

It’s like my mom has phased me out of my own life, only to replace me with whomever she sees fit. Money, alcohol, _Bryant_.

It makes me want to seriously blame the Harpers for all of this. If Mike and Beck weren’t such good sons, maybe Mom wouldn’t want to be with Bryant so badly. Maybe we would have never moved across the goddamn country. If Bryant weren’t rich and successful, maybe Mom would have never met him and would have been at home more often while Dad was still alive.

Maybe if Mom hadn’t ever met Bryant, she would have never fell out of love with Dad, and maybe then Dad wouldn’t have ever gotten cancer. I wouldn’t have had to watch him die by myself, in a hospital bed with a mangled face and no life in his eyes.

Dad’s eyes were brown too. Lighter than mine, though—almost golden.

He used to be so handsome, so full of life. His smile could fuel mine for days, weeks, months. His jokes, his loving parenting style, could brighten up even the gloomiest of days.

He didn’t fucking deserve to die the way he did—stuck in a shitty hospital room with his lower jaw gone, alone except for the sad sack of shit he had for a daughter. Once Dad lost his ability to speak, he didn’t deserve to have to write down the question _Heard from Mom yet?_ on that little hospital notepad every day that I went to see him. He didn’t deserve for me to answer back, “Not yet,” every single time he asked, because I was a failure and couldn’t even convince my own mom to get her ass back home.

He died without seeing her for almost a month straight. She abandoned him with _me_ —a useless, subpar excuse of a daughter. I couldn’t make him feel better in that hospital bed—couldn’t even feed him without crying.

I failed Dad just like Mom failed him. We both sat by and did _nothing_ as he died.

I wish I could have done something. I should have been able to. Why didn’t I do anything?

Am I that incapable—that useless?

*************

“Low,” Beck says again.

A sob escapes my chest and I bury my face in Dad’s quilt, the rough bear pattern scraping against my cheek. “Leave me alone, Beck.”

He jiggles the doorknob. “Let me in. I don’t like you being alone right now.”

Anger simmers lowly in my chest, even though rationally I know that none of this is Beck’s fault. Still. I chuck a pillow at the door, cursing lowly. I don’t respond otherwise.

In the dim light of my room—the curtains are still drawn—the clock on my nightstand proclaims that it’s almost noon. I’ve been in here for the most part of three hours. Once I finally peeled myself off the bathroom floor and washed my face, I’d managed to cry enough that my eyes went bloodshot. My head feels stuffy, but my chest aches, my stomach feels unsettled, almost nauseous. I feel like I’ve cried enough to make myself sick, but tears still periodically cloud my vision.

Beck has been outside my door the entire time, asking to be let in. Mom hasn’t come up here once.

It hurts to realize that she probably doesn’t think she said anything wrong. By her standards, drinking at nine o’clock in the morning and telling your kid that she’s an inconvenience is probably the pinnacle of parenting.

“Harlow.” Beck’s tone takes on a warning tilt. “I will break down this door, you know. I could probably just pick it.”

I turn over so that my back is to the door, bringing the quilt higher over my face. I think I can vaguely smell Dad’s cologne—Old Spice. That’s ridiculous, though, because it’s been years and years since he died. This quilt has been washed who knows how many times in that period.

I wish I could smell Dad’s cologne again, though. I want one of his classic crushing hugs. I inhale shakily and sniff. Stupid hormones.

“Is she still not opening the door?” I hear Adrian ask softly from out in the hallway.

“No, dammit.” A thump against the door tells me that Beck is getting frustrated. The thought brings a small smile to my face. I love messing with him.

“Low!” Mike hammers on the door. “Open up. If you’re going to be emo, at least let us all be emo together. We’re the ones who had to stay downstairs with Tits McGee and Dad earlier. It was _horrible_.”

_Tits McGee_. I snort.

Beck speaks so quietly that I have to peel away the quilt and strain to hear what he’s saying. “Did you bring paper clips?”

Adrian answers, “Yeah. I also found a tutorial on YouTube if you can’t figure out how to pick it.”

“Thanks, man.” Louder, Beck calls through the door, “You have five seconds to unlock this door before I unlock it myself, Harlow. Don’t fuck with me.”

The doorknob jiggles, the sound of metal scraping on metal making me go alert. With a frustrated growl, I fling the quilt off of me and storm over to the door. I roughly wipe at my face and say through the door, “Fuck _off_ , you nosy dickhead!”

“Sorry, no can do.” The lock of my door clicks, and Beck makes a triumphant noise. “Got it!”

“No!” I jam my foot against the base of the door and press my entire body against the wood as Beck starts to push it open. “Dammit, Beck!”

“You can’t lock us out, Low.” He laughs wickedly, Adrian and Mike joining him in my torment.

“Ugh!” I stumble away from the door as he forces it open, filling the open space with his body.

Beck is wearing his pajama pants from earlier, still absent of a shirt. He quirks a grin at me, before his expression drops as his eyes roam over my face. He brings up a hand to my cheek. “You were really crying earlier,” he mumbles, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

Over Beck’s shoulder, Adrian and Mike peer into my room. Adrian’s eyes meet mine, filled with concern. “Are you okay, Low?” He holds Pascal in his arms, my smol golden child happily adjusted to his captor.

Fucking dog thief.

Mike scoffs meanly, although not directed at Adrian. “Her mom is a complete bitch. Of course she’s not fine.”

Adrian elbows Mike, but Beck speaks over them, walking further into my room. “Go away, guys.” He pushes the door closed with his foot, shutting us in the dimness of my room.

Mike knocks on the door in frustration. “You don’t get to hog Harlow, man! She’s going to be my stepsister too!”

Beck’s expression darkens and he growls at the door, “Fuck off! That’s not even funny at this point.”

Adrian says something quietly to Mike, who cackles. Their footsteps sound down the hall as they leave.

I sniff and back away from Beck, twisting my fingers together and staring at the floor. I mumble, “He’s right, you know. We’re going to be _stepsiblings._ ”

Beck scowls and closes the space between us, tilting my head up with his fingers. His eyes are dark in the dim light of my room, mouth pressed into a flat line. “I don’t want to hear that shit—not from you too. Forget that, though.” A low rumble comes from his chest, an expression of fury. “She made you _cry_ , Low.”

“She tends to do that a lot lately,” I whisper. I shrug and try to step away from him, but he follows, leaning down to press his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle in the small space between us.

“What she said was absolute bullshit,” Beck says confidently. He stares directly into my eyes, a fierce expression on his face. “Say it—that you know what she said was bullshit. That you _know_ you’re not an _inconvenience_.” He sneers the last word, derision dripping from his tone.

I try to move my eyes away from him. My lip trembles against my will.

Beck doesn’t let me move, keeping my eyes captive with his. “Say it,” he whispers. “You’re _not_ an inconvenience, Low. You’re not useless.”

I sniffle and blink quickly, throat tight. “It’s not necessarily untrue, though,” I murmur, lips brushing his as I speak. “No one wants me here—”

“I want you here,” Beck cuts me off, eyes blazing. “ _I_ do.”

And damn it all to hell, because apparently I have it in me to cry again.

*************

“I really wish she would’ve at least let me keep the records,” I mumble against Beck’s neck, tracing random patterns on his hairless chest. He smells so good, that spicy mint scent ingrained in his skin. I’ve started wondering if it’s actually cologne or just _Beck_.

He shifts against the bed, hugging me tighter to him with his arm. His other hand is raised, toying with the ends of my hair. “They were that important to you?” he asks quietly, voice relaxed.

I nod, cheek rubbing against his bare collarbone. He’s warm, this furnace of a human being. “Music was Dad’s _thing_. He loved those records, spent years collecting them. He probably rolled over in his grave when she sold them.” My voice cracks, so I stop talking.

Stupid Harlow, always getting emotional about everything.

Beck hums lowly in his throat, the vibrations sending a shiver down my spine. “What kinds of music did he like?”

I swallow. “Guns N’ Roses. Depeche Mode. He had an odd obsession with Pearl Jam too, but I think that’s just because he liked to think he was a _rebel_.” A snort escapes me. “I once caught him doing a screamo rendition of _Black_ in the kitchen—at our old house. He couldn’t sing for shit.”

Beck chuckles. “I like Pearl Jam.” He goes quiet for a long moment.

**********

“Do you have a list of your dad’s records?” I ask softly, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere we’ve created, this thought coming to my head that I can’t shake.

Harlow scoots closer to me. Her hair smells like apples. It’s nice. “I think I have a rough list somewhere that Dad made a while ago.” She shifts to peek at me, brown eyes wide. “Why?”

I shrug and feign nonchalance. “No reason.” It gets quiet. I play with a stray of her hair, then drop it and let my fingers trail down the side of her neck, down to her shoulder. My index finger slides under the neckline of her t-shirt, pulling the fabric away slightly.

Harlow breathes deeply and moves her fingers over the muscles in my ribcage, up over my sternum. The longer we lie here, the braver she becomes, letting her fingers wander over my skin.

I wish she would let her fingers wander lower.

Throat thick, I whisper, “I want to kiss you again.”

Harlow makes a small noise, fingers stilling right over my heart. “Why? You kissed me after your last football game too…”

I shift onto my side, letting my arm slide off of her shoulder and under her back. Harlow’s eyes are dark, wide as she dares to look up at me. I lean close. “I kissed you because I wanted to.” And it’s true. She’s so fun to tease. The small noise she made when I kissed her at school last week got my blood pumping. I want to hear it again, want to see what other noises she can make.

“Why are you telling me this?” she whispers, fingers tensing over my chest. The pulse at the base of Harlow’s throat throbs. I want to bite it, mark it with my teeth, my tongue. I’ll bet her skin tastes as sweet as her lips.

I slowly lean toward her in answer and press a small kiss against the side of her mouth, then the other side.

Harlow’s breath hitches and she stares up at me with wide eyes. “We can’t,” she whispers furiously. “My mom—she’ll hate me more than she already does. I think she suspects something already.”

Right. That bitch.

“Who cares what your mom thinks? I sure as hell don’t.” I let my eyes meet hers before I move down to press my lips under her jaw, down the line of her throat. I press a hard kiss into the base of her neck, sucking lightly over that lovely little pulse.

Harlow stifles a moan, eyes fluttering shut. Her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, gripping my shoulders tightly. I notice that her legs press together and rub.

The wild beast in me pants, rearing to go. I press a soft kiss to Harlow’s lips, just light enough to hint at what could come. When I pull away, her eyes snap open. My lips curl at the fire in her gaze.

There’s my girl.

************

When Beck kisses me again, his tongue sneaks into my mouth like a soft caress. He rolls so that he’s propped up on top of me, arms on either side of my head as he guides my mouth with his, practically fucking me with his tongue.

I run my fingers up into his hair and pant when he moves away from my mouth, kissing down my neck again. He nips lightly at my jaw, causing a world of shivers to race down my spine. I grip his hair and bring his mouth back to mine, feeling needy and hot, an ache building that only Beck can relieve.

When I notice that Beck’s arms are straining, I pull back slightly. He’s propped up over me, very careful to not press our lower bodies together. The only parts of us touching are our chests.

I spread my legs and move a hand down Beck’s back, encouraging him to lay over me.

He hesitates, tensing. “Harlow, wait—” His hips meet mine.

My eyes fly wide at the firm bulge digging into my lower belly. “What’s—”

Beck hisses and tries to push up. “Shit, shit—”

I can’t help it. I giggle, not letting him leave. “Are you hard?”

Beck’s cheeks are flushed, lips swollen as he glares at me. “Yes, you evil tyrant. Now let me up.” I bite my lip and hesitantly wrap a leg around the back of his calf, pressing him more firmly to me. Beck groans, head dropping to my neck. He mutters, “Fuck. Sorry.”

My core aches. I arch up into him, trying to get some friction. Beck shifts lower, so that hard bulge brushes over the front of my pajama pants. The pressure shoots tingles of pleasure up my spine, this hot sensation that makes me crave more.

“God, you’re hot, Low,” Beck hisses, dark eyes staring into mine as he slowly, deliberately shifts his hips, grinding into me.

A low noise leaves my mouth. I move my hands down to his side, gripping his ribs. “I—that feels—”

“Good?” Beck shoots me a wicked look and puts more pressure, thrusting harder into the apex of my thighs. I want to take my pants off, take his off as well.

There’s too much fabric between us.

This slow wave of pleasure builds in the base of my gut, running up my body in swell after swell of heat. My shirt feels tight, nipples aching and sore inside my bra.

“More,” I mutter, bucking up into Beck. He presses his mouth to mine, making these rumbly noises that make my core clench.

His hand wanders up my side, pushing my shirt up slowly. When his fingers find my bra, he curses and lifts his head. “You sleep with a bra on?”

I take a deep breath and glare at him. “Of course not, dumbass. I put it on earlier, before I went downstairs.”

“Why?” he asks quietly, pushing my shirt up more to expose my bra. It’s nothing fancy. I think a normal girl would be embarrassed over wearing something so simple, but I’m too focused on the fact that Beckett Harper just asked my _why_ I’m wearing a bra.

I snort. “Because I live in a house with teenage boys? And while my mother may enjoy flashing her nipples all over the place, I would prefer not to.”

Beck groans, forehead resting against my shoulder. “You suck at this. I wasn’t actually _asking_ , Harlow. Jesus Christ.” His shoulders shake with laughter.

Some of the heat fading, I swat at the back of his head. A grin rises to my lips, and my face feels hot. “I’ve never done this before, asshole. It’s not like I _know—_ ”

When Beck lifts his head, his eyes are alight with amusement. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you, then,” he murmurs against my lips.

All humor fades away. This time, Beck keeps his lips on mine as he thrusts his hips, letting that hard ridge in his pants move right over my core. I pant into his mouth and stifle the whines that want to escape. That swell is building again, faster and faster as Beck’s movements get rough and his hand kneads at my bra. When he tugs the cups of my bra down, I have a brief moment of self-consciousness. I’m kind of lacking in the boob department.

All insecurity fades away, though, when Beck makes this excited noise in his throat and lowers his head to my breast, gently licking and sucking at my nipple. I cry out and bring up a hand to my lips to keep quiet. Shit, but we’re not the only ones here.

Did Beck even lock the door?

One particularly rough thrust of Beck’s hips makes my toes curl. I squeeze him with my thighs, rocking up into another thrust.

“Beck,” I whimper quietly, pressing my lips to the skin of his neck.

His groan vibrates against my mouth. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

Those words are all it takes for my entire body to tense up. My vision whites out for a whole minute, fingernails raking across the expanse of Beck’s back as he grunts and continues undulating between my legs, rubbing his clothed member against me.

When Beck’s entire body goes taut and he presses his face into my shoulder with a muffled groan, I shiver with delight. It takes him several minutes of heavy breathing to go lax against me, but when he does, he presses a hard kiss against my lips and meets my eyes with his smoldering gaze. “Jesus Christ, we need to do that again.”

Smug with the knowledge that I just made Beckett Harper, King of All the Panties at Laurier Academy, come in his pants, I laugh and agree.

************

Lying in Harlow’s bed after giving her a very thorough orgasm—a clothed orgasm, at that—makes me one hell of a victorious bastard. I feel damningly proud of myself, this gloating, almost protective emotion rising in my chest as I lie with Harlow and watch a movie. Neither of us makes a move to leave. I snuck into the bathroom earlier to clean up the situation in my pajama pants as well as I could, but I’m content to stay with her for as long as she’ll have me.

This warm feeling that has been blooming in my chest for a while takes my breath away. It seems to spark up whenever Harlow is in the room, and I finally man up and admit it to myself:

I like Harlow Pace. I want to kiss her all the time, maybe do other things with her as well.

The fact that I got her first _real_ kiss, as well as her first orgasm with another person, makes me want to shout triumphantly. Those experiences are mine, and they always will be.

I would burn down the world just to see Harlow’s flushed face when she came again, that bashful smile she offered me once everything was said and done. I would happily rain down hellfire on Rachel for this girl (although, I’m pretty sure I would destroy the bitch anyway after she hit Harlow earlier). I don’t want Harlow to hurt anymore about losing a significant part of her dad, either. The way she spoke about those records hinted at so much emotion, so much _love_ for her dad…

And so, as I lie with Harlow and make stupid comments about some Japanese movie she’s forcing me to watch, I know what I have to do.

**************

From that day on, Beck goes out of his way to kiss me whenever he sees fit. Luckily, he has the conscience to be discreet, but he still plants kisses on my hand, cheek, lips, whenever no one is looking.

He does it in the hallway at school once. I’m standing at my locker, getting ready for History, and he just sneaks up out of nowhere and plants his lips on mine. He ducks away quickly before anyone sees what he did, but my cheeks burn for the rest of the day, guilty and afraid that someone saw.

Of course, no one saw. Beck is good like that.

It’s at lunch during the second week of November—Thursday—that everything seems to go downhill. Beck and I have been so careful all week, making sure that we’re discreet at all times, since the lovely way we spent last Sunday.

You know, after the whole _Mom hitting me and then me crying for hours_ incident.

Beck’s foot nudges mine under the table in the cafeteria and I shoot him a small grin, nudging him back. He runs his foot up my calf and sends me a quick glance and a smile while he talks to Adrian next to him.

Jax leans close to my ear and hisses, “What are you so happy about?”

I jump and look over at him, plastering on an innocent expression. “What do you mean?”

Jax’s eyes narrow and he leans toward me suspiciously. “Are you drunk?”

I frown. “No. Why would you think that?”

I already have _one_ drunk to deal with at home, thanks. Mom has reached a new low, taking to drinking even during the weekday. Bryant had to apologize on her behalf for how she behaved on Sunday, but I don’t forgive her. Bryant even tried to spin some elaborate tale of how she’s stressed out about the wedding and this upcoming case they’re working on, but even he didn’t look like he believed his own bullshit. He just looked completely drained, frustrated at the fact that his trophy wife may not be solid gold, but instead plated pyrite over a plastic interior.

Jax slowly runs his eyes over me, green eyes cautious as he says, “You were smiling.”

I blink. “Yeah? I do that. It’s called having _human emotions_ , Jackson.”

He flicks my forehead and sulks, crossing his arms. “You never smile. It’s creepy.”

Kieran pipes up, “I’ve noticed it too. You look… weirdly happy recently.”

I scowl. “So I’m not allowed to smile anymore? Fuck you guys.”

Beck distracts from his conversation with Adrian. “What’s going on?”

Jax waves a hand dismissively. “Harlow’s on drugs or something. Denial.”

I protest, “That’s not even funny!”

Kieran snorts. “Then what is it? There’s no way you’re just _naturally_ happy.”

“Not the Harlow I know,” Jax adds, like an ass.

Adrian coughs a laugh, almost spilling his drink everywhere. “I don’t think there’s anything different about Low, guys. Give it a break.”

Jax squints at Adrian, lip curling. “You can’t talk. You’ve been acting different recently too—way too fucking happy.”

Mike snickers and mumbles, “I wonder why.”

“I’m onto you, Harper,” Kieran says to him, pointing at him with a piece of pizza. “You’re not much better than the Happy Campers over there.” He gestures at me and Adrian.

Beck scoffs and leans back in his seat. His foot nudges mine again under the table, dark eyes glinting as he says, “I think you’re reading into nothing, guys.”

Jax mutters something under his breath and grabs his tray. He rises from his seat, but before he storms off, he loudly declares to the entire table, “I _will_ find out what you’re hiding. Come along, Watson—we have some investigating to do.” He directs the last part at Kieran.

Kieran scowls and lazily rises from his seat too, following after Jax with the words, “I called dibs on being Sherlock, jackass. And I thought we decided we were more of a _Shaggy and Scooby_ duo anyway—you being the mutt, of course.”

Jax tries to kick him as they walk off.

Beck meets my eyes with a grim set to his mouth, dark eyes swirling with secrets.

_Our_ secrets.

*************

The guys come over on Friday night, intent on eating enough pizza to feed an entire European country and watching movies all night. I join them for a while but sneak upstairs during a break between horror films to get a drink.

I’m on my tiptoes, reaching up into the cupboard for a glass, when hands plant on my hips.

Beck presses his entire body against my back, rubbing up against my ass. He buries his face in my neck, mumbling, “I want them to leave.”

I snort and grab a glass, setting it on the counter as I turn around in his arms. “You’re the one who invited them over.”

“I know,” he groans, sucking at the juncture of my neck. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

I laugh and swat at him, slipping out of his hold and taking my glass over to the fridge. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for _months_.”

Beck growls playfully and takes the glass out of my hand, caging me against the fridge. He places his palms on either side of my head, leaning down so that his nose brushes mine. “You think you’re so funny, huh, smartass?” He presses a bruising kiss to my lips, biting at my lower lip.

I stifle a moan and try to shove him away. His chest is so firm. “Anyone could come up here. We should probably head back downstairs.”

“Not going to lie,” he murmurs against my lips, kissing me again. “I’m close to not caring whether people see anymore. I want to kiss you all the time. God, you taste good.”

My ego inflates just a bit at his words. Against my better judgement, I lean back against the fridge, tangle my fingers in his dark hair, and kiss the ever-loving shit out of Beckett Harper.

A strangled gasp from the kitchen doorway makes me jerk away from Beck. Adrian gapes at us, mouth opening and closing for a long moment.

He finally stutters out, “What were you two just—did I just seriously—"

“Adrian,” Beck says hurriedly, stepping away from me and raising his hands in surrender. “Please, man—”

“What’s the hold up?” Mike asks, moving around Adrian and into the kitchen. He slows to a stop as he takes in me and Beck. His eyes narrow and he asks slowly, “What’re you up to in here?”

Adrian points a finger at me, then Beck. His eyes are full of delight as he says, “They—I just saw them _kiss_ —”

“Okay!” Beck says loudly. “Thanks, Adrian. That’s totally enough right now.” His neck is flushed, eyes panicky as he looks to me, then back at the witnesses.

Sorry, Adrian. I may have to eliminate you. I can’t risk evidence leaking.

A slow grin curls Mike’s mouth. His eyes meet mine, dark gaze full of mischief. “Oh, you didn’t, Harlow. You really didn’t.” He cackles, slapping a hand against his thigh in glee.

I glare at him, face burning. “Shut the fuck up, Mike! Jesus, anyone could hear you—”

“Anyone could hear what?” Jax wonders, also walking into the kitchen.

Impeccable timing. Christ.

Beck coughs. “Nothing! Fucking hell—”

“We weren’t talking about anything!” Adrian all but yells, eyes flying wide.

I hiss at him angrily, “Nice save, dumbfuck.”

He presses his lips into a guilty line as Mike butts in, “Hey, man. Did you get the movie started?”

Jax narrows his eyes at all of us. “No… Kieran wanted popcorn.” His suspicious glower rests on me. “Why is Harlow blushing?”

“Oh, you know.” Beck waves his hand in a very _non-Beck_ way. He forces a very false laugh. “She does that sometimes.”

I kick at him subtly. “You suck at this.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, he hisses back, “What else am I supposed to say in this situation?”

“What the hell is going on?” Jax demands, crossing his arms defiantly. “You’re all acting weird.”

Adrian squeaks, face flushing. “I need to leave. I can’t—secrets aren’t my thing—” He tries to scoot through the doorway, but Jax blocks him with a glare.

“You’re not leaving until someone tells me what’s going on.” Jax leans against the doorjamb and raises an auburn brow.

Beck grits his teeth and looks over at me. I shrug at the questioning look in his eyes. I’m as lost as he is. He finally sighs and opens his mouth, likely intending to reveal information that doesn’t need to ever see the light of day.

Mike cuts him off by saying, “You see, Jax, when someone loves another person, they form a relationship…” He glances back at me nervously.

I groan and roll my eyes. “Oh my god.”

Mike continues, “And the thing is—”

“Mike and I are dating!” Adrian blurts out, face pale. He blinks and coughs a little. “I mean—shit. That’s not what I meant to say.”

Eyes blown wide with horror, Mike exclaims, “What the fuck, Adrian? That’s not what I was going to say!”

“I’m sorry!” Adrian covers his face with a mortified groan. “Fucking kill me.”

I bite my lip to cover a laugh. His nervousness shouldn’t be as funny as it is. And I shouldn’t be laughing in this situation.

Jax looks slowly from Adrian to Mike, then back again. “Okay…? And what does that have to do with Harlow’s face?”

Beck says, “You’re being awfully calm about this.”

Jax shrugs, tension falling from his shoulders. “I mean, they’ve been together since—what was it—sophomore year? It’s not a new thing.”

Beck’s mouth falls open. “You _knew_?!”

“Who knew what?” Kieran asks, shoving around Jax and walking over to the sink to refill his water glass.

Jax snorts and waves a hand. “They’re all freaked out because Adrian and Mike are fucking.”

“Jackson Reid!” Beck roars in outrage.

Kieran looks largely unaffected and sips his water. “Oh, that? You should really chill, man,” he says to Beck. “We’ve all known this for years.” He shrugs.

Beck gapes. “What? You’ve known for _years_?”

“I never told them anything!” Adrian says, holding up his hands.

Mike frowns. “Me neither.”

Jax snorts. “It’s not that hard to figure out.”

Kieran nods and follows Jax out of the kitchen, saying as he leaves, “Yeah. It’s like the whole thing going on with Beck and Low.”

All the blood drains from my face. Beck finds his voice first, calling out, “What does that mean?”

Kieran pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, glancing back at us over his shoulder. “You two are totally fucking. Or close to it.”

Jax pops his head back in with a grin and a thumbs up. “Hashtag Team BeLow!”

And then they just fucking leave, as if those assholes haven’t just disrupted the universe.

***********

Once all of the guys are asleep in the basement, I ignore the urge to suffocate Jax and Kieran in their sleep—smug bastards—and slip upstairs. I knock on the door to Dad’s office.

“Come in,” he answers. When I open the door, I find him bent over his desk, which is strewn with what I know are confidential court papers. Dark circles rim his eyes. It’s nearing midnight, and he worked all day on top of everything. Of course, Rachel is absent—although, based on all the fighting they’ve done lately, that may be a good thing.

I clear my throat and remind myself to sound confident. “I need to borrow some money.”

Dad drops his pen and stares across the room at me, adjusting his reading glasses. “You know I don’t have issues with giving you money, but I don’t think you’ve ever _asked_ before.” He frowns. “What do you need it for, Beck?”

I shuffle into the office and pull the door mostly closed to give us some privacy. And then I tell him my plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #TeamBeLow


	27. You're Not Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that FACK by Eminem is the soundtrack to this entire story. Just loop it on repeat LMAO.
> 
> Enjoy ~ !

My bedroom door creaks open just after midnight. I blink open my eyes and watch as a tall figure moves into my room, pressing the door closed softly and clicking the lock.

I sit up, heart racing. “Who’s there?”

“Shh. It’s me,” Beck whispers, padding over to my bed in the darkness. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pokes at me while lifting the covers. “Scoot over, brat.”

I frown but do as he asks. “What are you doing in here?”

He grumbles, spreading out on my bed. He even goes so far as to steal one of my pillows, the bastard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

I tug my quilt back when he tries to steal that too. “So you decided to bother me?”

Beck brings the covers up to his chin. In the darkness, I can just barely make out his eyes, the shape of his nose and cheekbones. “Yup.” His lips spread into a smile and he leans over to press a sloppy kiss to my forehead, to which I slap him in retaliation.

I sigh and sit back in my bed, trying not to focus on the heat of Beck’s arm pressed against mine, the roughness of his pajama pants against my bare legs. Why did I decide to sleep in shorts tonight? Beck inches closer and brings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me roughly to his bare chest. I humph and nip at his collarbone. “Cover thief.”

Beck chuckles, voice husky with sleep. He mumbles, “I could be a clothing thief too. Why are you still wearing a shirt?”

I snort and bury my face in his neck with a long exhale. “I’m tired. Go to sleep, asswipe.”

Beck settles down and brings up a hand to toy with my hair. I fall asleep to the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat swaying me into the abyss.

***********

I wake up before Beck does. My head rests against his chest still, one of my legs thrown over both of his. He has his arms wrapped around me, head buried in my hair. He breathes slowly and deeply, lips parted just slightly. The barest hint of sunlight peeks through the curtains; the clock on the nightstand indicates that it’s barely six o’clock. Sunday morning. No one will be up for hours.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and carefully sit up, letting his arms fall to the bed. The comforter has fallen down to our waists, his chest bared to the air. Sometime during the night, the waistband of his pajama pants got pulled down slightly, exposing the band of his boxers and his hipbones. A dark trail of hair leads from his naval down into his boxers, so enticingly cradled by the firm muscles of his abdomen.

I swallow thickly and check to make sure he’s still asleep. He is, completely dead to the world. Propped up on my side on the bed, I let my fingers trail down his sternum, over his ribs. His abdominal muscles jump when I trail my fingers lower, lower still. The trail of hair under his naval is soft, getting thicker as my fingers brush up against his waistband.

Beck’s brows furrow slightly and I still, heart racing. He doesn’t wake up.

I lick my lips and hesitantly slide my finger under the waistband of his boxers, pulling it up just enough to let it slap back down sharply on his stomach.

He jerks and makes a startled grunt, eyes blinking open. “What are you doing?” He squints at me grumpily.

I snicker and snap his waistband again. “Wake up.”

Beck groans and slaps my hand away. “Stop. What time is it?” He blearily glances at the clock. “Jesus, it’s six. Go back to sleep, you psychopath.”

He tries to flop over away from me, but I place a hand on his chest to stop his movement. I whisper, “I want to see your dick.”

The courage it takes to say that… My heart races.

Beck stares at me in stunned silence for a while. He scoffs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Under my palm, I feel his heartbeat speed up. My lip quirks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me things? Like, sexy things?”

He grimaces at me, dark eyes still dazed from sleep. “It’s too early for this.”

Pulse speeding up nervously, I take a deep breath and decide to be brave. Or brash, depending on how you look at it. I reach out and put my palm right over his groin, on top of the covers. Beck curses at me and props himself up on his elbows, but I blink at my hand in shock.

Under my fingers, Beck’s cock is decisively _hard_. It’s pulsing even, this steady throb that I can feel through the covers and his clothes.

“Jesus, Harlow,” Beck hisses, grabbing my hand.

I don’t let him pull it away, instead putting more pressure on his groin, rubbing a little. “Why are you hard?”

He groans and falls back, covering his flushed face with his hands. “Because I just woke up, dumbass! It happens.”

I tilt my head and tug town the comforter, staring with wide eyes at the bulge in his pants. It gives off heat as I palm over it. “Why, though? Were you having a good dream?” A devilish smirk curls my lips.

“You’re not normal,” Beck moans in disbelief, staring at me with a bothered expression as I continue to rub at his groin. He finally sighs when he realizes I’m waiting for an answer. “Fine! I think it has something to do with testosterone levels. Christ, you’re scary.”

I bite my lip when I notice that his hips are pushing up into my hand slightly. His breathing has sped up, this lovely flush rising up his chest and into his neck. I slide my other hand down his chest and grab ahold of his waistband, starting to tug it down. When his pubic hair is starting to peek out, Beck grabs ahold of my wrists and stops me.

He’s gritting his teeth, looking strained. “Stop.”

I shrug innocently. “What? I just want to see.”

Beck glares at me and scoffs. “I know your game. There’s no way you’ll _just_ look—”

I pull away and begin peeling off his pants again, both the pajamas and the boxers. Beck makes a choked sound, but lifts his hips so that I can roll down his pants more. His cock, flushed red and standing thick and proud, bobs against his abdomen as I lower the fabric to the tops of his thighs.

I stare in wonder, reaching out a finger to poke Beck’s dick. It throbs noticeably above his pelvis. “So cute.”

Beck makes a noise similar to a sob, hiding his face behind his hands. “No. God, no. Please, just put me out of my misery. This can’t be real.”

I snicker and wrap my fingers around his length, an excited heat in my abdomen making me sit up and clench my thighs together. “Dramatic.”

Beck’s breath hitches and he lowers his hands to level his dark gaze on where my hand wraps around him. “You don’t call a man’s dick _cute_ , Harlow. It hurts.”

I shrug, unbothered, and shift closer, stroking all the way up his member. A small bead of fluid appears at the flushed tip, and I swipe at it with my thumb like I saw a girl do once in porn.

Who says porn can’t be educational?

Beck curses under his breath and raises his hips to meet my hand, fucking into my grip with these slow, elongated movements. I watch his abdominal muscles clench and relax as if in a trance. Beck gets rougher, making these little needy noises, so I experimentally tighten my grip.

He winces, looking like he’s in pain. “Not so tight.”

I giggle and relax my fingers a little, rubbing my thumb against the underside of the head. “Does it feel good?”

Beck glares at me, chest heaving. “Yes. I hate you so much.”

I lean over him and press a kiss to his lips, uncaring about morning breath. Who gives a shit when you have a mostly naked man under you?

When Beck gets more desperate, thrusting up into my hand and clenching at the sheets, jaw clenching, I quicken my strokes. He tenses up and throws his head back, baring his throat with a curse. I press a hard kiss to his pulse point, sucking at the juncture of his neck as he shudders. Hot fluid surges over my fingers. I stare through my hair as the creamy liquid drips down my wrist, lands on Beck’s abdomen. He releases a hitched breath and relaxes completely against the bed, eyes still closed.

I stroke him a few more times, until he groans and pats at my hand. Elated, I take my hand away, staring at the come all over my fingers.

“Shit,” Beck whispers harshly, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. He blindly tugs his pants and boxers back up, hiding the goods. When his eyes open and flash up to meet mine, I smile and bring my thumb to my mouth, licking at the smallest bit of the fluid.

It doesn’t taste very good, not going to lie. I don’t know why people love licking this shit in porn.

Beck sits up abruptly, gripping my wrist and tearing it away from my mouth with a horrified look on his face. “Why would you _taste_ it?” he demands in a hushed voice, staring from my fingers to my lips.

I laugh a little embarrassedly. My face feels hot. “That’s what they do in porn.”

Beck groans dramatically, eyes soft but mortified. His shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re not a porn star. Jesus fuck, Harlow.”

I cackle and fall back on the bed. “How was I supposed to know?”

Beck makes this growly sound and pounces on top of me, pinning my wrists to either side of my head. All humor leaves me when I notice the heat in his gaze. He looks like he’s either prepared to kill me or consume me. He leans close, murmuring against my mouth, “I don’t think I’ve given you enough lessons. Need to teach you more.”

Yes, please. I watch as he nudges my legs apart and settles between them, pushing my shirt up. I gulp when I realize that he can probably see the peaks of my nipples through the thin fabric.

Beck slowly peels off my shirt, exposing my breasts. He covers them with his palms, needing the flesh. When he takes one of my nipples into his mouth and moves his hands down to peel off my sleep shorts, I pant.

The cool air between my legs feels foreign, naughty. When Beck shoots me a wicked smile and scoots down the bed so that his mouth is near my sex, I choke on thin air. “What are you doing?”

He shushes me and brings his mouth to my thigh, kissing his way upward. When his mouth connects with the little bundle of nerves between my legs, when he _sucks_ and moves his tongue in a skilled, experienced caress, I have to bite into my wrist to keep quiet. Then Beck shows me just how good his tongue can feel, mixed with a finger or two.

When I come, it’s with his mouth locked between my legs and two of his fingers inside of me. It’s the most amazing, mind-blowing experience I’ve ever had.

***********

On Monday morning, Kieran drives his truck to school without us; apparently, he has to meet with the counselor before school to discuss his plans for college. Up until today, I was unaware that Laurier even had a school counselor.

As football season is officially over, the guys and I only leave about forty-five minutes before school starts. With little traffic in the increasingly inclement weather of the Rocky Mountains, we get to school early. Adrian, Jax, Beck, and Mike follow me to the library to wait until school starts.

We’re sat at a table in the back, Beck right next to me and being an incessant twat in general, when Jamie comes bouncing through the doors, curly hair a mess around her head.

She slams into the open seat next to me and exclaims, “Have you heard about Anna yet?!”

I lean away from her and idly brush away the snowflakes coating her uniform. “No? I don’t like to concern myself with that bitch.”

Jamie scoots her chair in and looks around at me and the guys, whispering conspiratorially, “Jenna Williams told me that Anna checked into the Springs last weekend. Her dad drove her all the way down there too!”

I frown. “What’s _the Springs_? You mean the hot springs?” Colorado has a lot of those, I’ve come to find out.

I want to visit one someday with Beck. I heard that there’s a place called Orvis Hot Springs somewhere down south. Jax told me that you can go there _naked_.

“She’s talking about the Healing Springs. It’s a mental rehabilitation facility,” Adrian offers, brows furrowed.

“Why’d she go there?” Jax asks. “Did her nut finally crack?” He laughs.

Jamie looks serious, though. “Jenna said she tried to kill herself. Her mom’s a nurse, so she was there when Anna was admitted. Apparently, she was spouting a lot of stuff about Mr. Pollock!”

An uneasy feeling spreads throughout my stomach. I ask, “What kind of stuff?”

Jamie lowers her voice and glances around. “Jenna’s mom thinks Mr. Pollock tried to groom Anna. Like pedo shit.”

Jax looks disgusted. “Seriously?”

Mike asks, “Did she say anything specific about Pollock?”

Jamie shrugs. “I wasn’t there, but apparently Anna was crying a lot. The cops got called too. Judge Atkinson drove Anna down to the Springs the next morning.”

Beck says darkly, “At least she’s getting help. And that Pollock bastard is going to prison for a long time. My dad said it’s unlikely that he’ll get less than twenty years minimum.”

“That’s horrible for Anna, though,” I say softly. Even after all of the horrible things Anna did to me, I can’t imagine what she’s gone through. Mr. Pollock was actually a pedophile? I mean, I knew that he slept with Anna and knocked her up, but was he really more manipulative and _gross_ than anyone believed?

Poor Anna.

Jamie’s mouth is set in a grim line. “I’m glad Anna didn’t actually kill herself. Even though she’s a total bitch,” she glances at me, “I don’t think she deserves to die. Not like that.”

I nod. “I totally agree. I mean, I want to punch her in the face still, but what Mr. Pollock did was disgusting. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

“He deserves to get fucked up the ass for the rest of his life,” Beck mutters.

I elbow him and shoot him a disapproving look. “That’s mean.”

Mike snorts. “Fucking and manipulating a minor is mean. The bastard deserves what’s coming to him.”

Jax nods in agreement. “No pity for pedophiles, Low. Sorry, not sorry.”

I swallow thickly and try to tell myself that I don’t agree with them. But I kind of do. What does that say about my own morality?

I think I’ve been hanging around the guys for too long. They have my ethical compass all screwed up.

************

The entire school is in uproar with the news about Anna. People whisper back and forth during all of my classes, lingering in the halls to stare at Harlow when I walk with her and Adrian to the cafeteria. She’s looked vaguely sick all day, barely paying attention in class.

I mean, she never pays attention in class, but today it’s particularly noticeable.

I brush my hand against hers lightly as I set my tray down at our table. She offers me a small smile and sits, mind far off.

“I just don’t understand why everyone can’t mind their own business,” Kieran grumbles, stabbing a fork into his salad. “I get that Anna is an unlikeable person in general, but even she deserves a little privacy.”

“It’s getting old,” Mike agrees. “These girls wouldn’t stop talking in homeroom this morning, and they got sent to Edwards’ office.”

Adrian’s eyes are somber. “I hope Anna will be all right…”

Jax changes the subject. “Have you heard anything about your mom yet?”

Adrian sighs. “I’ve been visiting a few times a week. She’s still in a coma, though. The doctor said that sometimes this happens—that medically induced comas can trigger trauma responses or something—so I don’t know when she’ll wake up.” He shrugs, mouth twisted bitterly. “I guess it’s a good thing that she’s getting to heal while she’s out, though. All of the swelling has gone down. The only thing that hasn’t healed mostly yet is her leg, but femurs take months to heal.”

“You still okay to stay with these assholes?” Kieran asks, motioning to me and Mike.

Adrian snorts. “It’s pure torture. Mike’s room is a pigsty.”

“Hey!” Mike protests. “If you don’t like it, you can sleep somewhere else.”

Harlow snickers. “You guys have been sleeping in the same room? I though you were staying in a guest bedroom downstairs, Adrian.”

His cheeks flush and he whack Mike over the head. “Nice job, asshat. Totally gave us away.”

“I really wish you two would start sleeping downstairs. I heard you on Saturday night.” I grimace. “I’ve had nightmares ever since.”

I heard what my little brother sounds like when he has sex. I need to figure out a concrete method as for how to bleach my goddamn ears.

Harlow blinks in surprise. “Saturday night? You mean that’s why you—" _snuck into my room?_ She doesn’t finish the sentence, stopping as all eyes turn on her.

My eyes grow wide. I cough. “Anyway, I’d appreciate a little more common decency—”

“Scholarship! I heard that Anna set an example of how to commit suicide,” Eric Prescott says, approaching our table with Colt in tow. Eric sneers at Adrian. “Maybe you should reenact her attempt, but be successful this time.” He and Colt crow with cruel laughter.

Adrian flushes, but I’m already out of my seat and in Eric’s stupid fucking face. “Back off, dickweed.”

Eric scoffs at me. “What are you going to do, football fag? Going to call your daddy on me?” He sneers and juts his chin at Adrian. “Oh, wait. I forgot—your daddy’s already here.”

Colt cackles and slaps his thigh. “Good one, Eric!”

I’ll tolerate people calling me stupid fucking nicknames, but no one gets to fuck around with my friends, my family. I’m tired of Eric’s homophobic bullshit too. That’s why I have no regrets when I lunge at him with my fist raised. The crack that my knuckles make against his jaw is satisfying, as is his cry of pain.

************

Dad is in court today, so he can’t come to the school to talk to Principal Edwards about my _attitude problem_. I don’t care when Principal Edwards tells me to take the rest of the day off and head home to, as she put it, “Think about my actions.” Other, normal people would call that a single day suspension, but not Edwards.

I may or may not have beat the shit out of Eric and Colt. I don’ regret it—hell, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. And they’re so fucking scrawny that I barely have any marks on me. My knuckles are busted up, but that’s a necessary evil.

I talked to Dad on the phone before I left the school, and he sounded pissed off. I know he’s stressed out right now, but I won’t apologize for defending Adrian. He’s my family.

I end up driving the SUV home by myself after lunch, Kieran promising to drop Mike, Adrian, and Harlow by the house once school ends. When I pull into the driveway, I notice the same dark blue Chevy that was here a few weeks ago parked in front of the house. It belonged to that Mr. Clean guy—what the fuck was his name?

Gut sinking, I park in the garage and then creep into the house, looking around warily. I check the kitchen first—that’s where Rachel and Mr. Clean were “meeting” last time—but it’s empty. So are the living room and the basement.

I frown and try to think where they might be. The Porsche wasn’t in the garage, so maybe the guy just left his car here while he met with Rachel or my dad… somewhere? None of this adds up.

Deciding that I must be the only one home, I turn toward the staircase, intending to hide up in my room until Dad gets back and rips me a new asshole. I freeze when I catch sight of a pair of strange shoes parked next to the front door— _men’s_ shoes.

I turn toward the stairs, intending to go investigate the upper levels, but a surprised gasp makes me jump. At the top of the stairs stands Rachel, right next to Mr. Clean. His bald head gleams like a goddamn mirror.

I scowl. “What the fuck were you doing upstairs?”

Rachel’s brown hair is messy, eyes wide as she gapes at me. “Beck! Why are you home?”

My eyes narrow. “Got suspended…” I jerk my chin at Mr. Clean. “Why is he here again?”

Rachel titters nervously, descending the stairs with Mr. Clean on her heels. He avoids my gaze and hastily pulls on his shoes. “It was nice meeting with you, Rachel.”

She bobs her head and also avoids my eyes. “I’ll send you those memorandums soon, Mr. Bunting. Have a safe drive home.”

Mr. Clean—Bunting—quickly leaves, the front door nearly slamming in his wake.

Rachel turns to me anxiously as I continue to stare her down. I cross my arms and sneer at her. “Seriously? You couldn’t even go to a goddamn hotel?”

She scowls at me. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but—”

I scoff. “Save the bullshit. Just wait till _Dad_ hears about this.” I pull out my phone, fully intending on calling him right here and now. He needs to know that his _loving_ fiancée has been bringing strange men into his house. I didn’t mention the last time that Bunting was here to Dad because, frankly, I forgot. He needs to know this shit, though.

Rachel rips the phone out of my hands. “Wait!” She holds the phone out of reach. “I won’t tell Bryant that you got suspended if you keep this between us!”

My eyes narrow and I lunge at her, easily getting my phone back. “He already knows. Nice try.”

I try to get past her to go up the stairs, but she blocks my way. “I’ll distract him, then!” Her eyes are desperate as she says, “Please, Beckett. It’s really not what you think!”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Get out of my way.”

She doesn’t move. Her teeth flash at me as she hisses, “I’ll make sure Bryant doesn’t reem you for getting suspended. You know how stressed out he’s been recently—he doesn’t need to deal with your shit on top of everything.”

“Move.” I grind my teeth. While the thought of not having Dad ride my ass for getting suspended is tempting, he needs to know that this bitch has been cheating on him.

“I’ll tell him I’m on your side—he won’t be mad then,” she offers. Her shirt is buttoned wrong, showing off more cleavage than I ever want to see—from her.

My patience wears thin, and I pinch the bridge of my nose as she continues pleading, her whiny voice grating on my nerves. “Fine!” I finally exclaim. “Jesus Christ, just let me leave!”

Rachel smiles widely at me and scoots out of the way. As I storm past her up the stairs she calls out, “You won’t regret this!”

But I already do, bitch.


	28. We Weren't Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ~ !

“I just don’t understand why this is so difficult for you to understand, Bryant!” Mom says, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I _said_ that I would prefer for the venue to be up near Denver.”

Bryant sets his fork down firmly and lets out a long sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. “And _I_ said that having a wedding near Denver on such short notice is nearly impossible. You’re the one who wanted to get married in January, so I booked the convention center here as quickly as I could.”

“I don’t want to get married in a shitty little convention center. I’ve seen that place—it has dead animals mounted everywhere!” Mom scoots her chair back roughly and stands, jostling the entire table.

My eyes meet Becks as I prevent my water glass from spilling. He’s tense, hands fisted on the table as he moves his eyes from me to my mom. He’s been acting different the last few days. It’s Wednesday night now, but he’s been oddly tense around my mom ever since he got suspended for the rest of the school day on Monday. Light punishment, in retrospect.

Bryant blew up at him on Monday night, but the fight was fairly brief, considering the fact that Beck sent Eric Prescott to the hospital with a fractured jaw. Colt Anson was luckier, getting away with only a sprained wrist and matching black eyes. Bryant apparently had to pay off both of their parents to make sure they wouldn’t sue Beck for assault, or try to press charges.

Across the table, Adrian glances nervously between my mom and Bryant. Mike leans close to him and whispers in his ear, telling him something that makes his shoulders relax. Beck is scowling fully now.

Mom takes her plate and stomps across the kitchen, slamming the dish into the sink with a clatter. “You are so intent on getting married in this godawful town—”

“We _live_ here, Rachel!” Bryant drags a hand down his face. “You would think it’d be easy to understand why getting married in the town that we live in is practical.”

“Don’t patronize me!” Mom lets loose this dramatic sniffle, breath hitching and everything. “You always try to bully me into doing what you want, but this is my wedding too! I didn’t get to plan the last one, so I sure as hell am going to plan this one.”

Bryant stares at her in shock, as if she’s a complete and total stranger. He mumbles, “I was under the impression that you _have_ been planning this one.”

“You’re such a jerk!” Mom rushes out of the kitchen, crocodile tears streaming and everything.

I sink back in my chair and blink after her. This reminds me a lot of what she used to do to Dad when he was alive. She would guilt-trip him until she got what she wanted, and if he refused to budge, she would gaslight him until he felt like he was in the wrong. She almost always ended up getting her way in the end. Emotional manipulation is her game, and she’s perfected the art of ruining good men’s lives, it seems.

Bryant makes a frustrated sound and plops his elbows onto the table, head hanging low. “Sorry you had to witness that, guys. I don’t know what her deal is.”

I hesitantly reach over Mom’s vacated seat and pat him on the shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just seeing how far she can push, you know.”

Bryant lifts his head and meets my eyes tiredly. He raises a brow. “I think she’s pushed a little too far, don’t you?”

Beck scoffs. “You have no idea, Dad. She’s totally unhinged, at this point.”

“Beck,” Bryant scolds with little force. “She’s just stressed out about the wedding—”

“She used to do this all the time to my dad,” I butt in. “It’s all a game to her. She loves making other people feel like they’re in the wrong, when everything is really _her_ fault. You have to see that.”

Bryant’s mouth sets in a firm line. His eyes are troubled as he pushes back from the table. “Would you guys take care of the dishes? I need to get some files ready for court tomorrow.”

After he disappears from the kitchen, Beck’s foot brushes against mine under the table. “She’s going to end up ruining everything. Dad’s a patient man, but even he has limits.”

I nod and sigh. “That’s what I’ve been telling her. It’s like she’s a different person, though—it feels like I don’t even know her.”

Surprisingly, Adrian laughs. It’s a dark, humorless sound. “Looks like all of our parents are fucking useless.”

Mike laughs with him, his tone no more amused. He’s glaring at the kitchen door, eyes murderous. “You’ve got that right. Is it too much to ask to have at least _one_ reasonable adult around here?”

Apparently, judging by the way the universe has fucked us all over, that request _is_ too much to ask for.

************

“Would you hand me that dish?” I ask, gesturing toward the plate near Beck’s elbow.

He drops the drying towel and hands me the plate. “I don’t understand why there are so many goddamn dishes.”

I shrug. “Dishwasher’s full already. This is what happens when there are six people living in the same house. Besides, you’re the one who told Mike and Adrian that they didn’t have to help out.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I thought we’d finish this quickly.” Beck sidles up to me and buries his face in the back of my neck, sucking and licking under my ear. “I have plans for you.”

I hiss and swat at him with a soapy hand. “Anyone could come in here! Are you crazy?”

Against the skin of my neck, Beck chuckles. “ _You_ drive me crazy.” He backs away and takes up another clean dish, dutifully drying it. He appears completely unaffected.

I know that I’m blushing as I forcefully scrub a cup. “You were already insane.”

I manage to keep Beck on-task until all of the dishes have been washed, dried, and put away except for one pot. I’ve used more soap than should be necessary and my forearm is cramping from scrubbing at it. I curse and throw down the sponge, blowing a piece of hair out of my eyes. I would have tied my hair back, but as my hair is currently way too fucking short (we can thank Anna for that), I have to live with it being annoying and useless.

Beck snickers and comes up behind me, reaching his muscled arms around my shoulders. His hands disappear into the dish water, taking up the sponge and scrubbing at the pot. “You suck at this, Pace.”

“If you think you can do so much better, you get to wash next time and I’ll dry.” I lightly elbow him and try to duck under his arm. He blocks me and hugs me tighter to him, pressing me against the sink. I’m trapped.

Beck kisses that spot under my ear again, lips traveling down the side of my neck. Hands preoccupied with cleaning the pot, he nudges aside the neckline of my shirt and his teeth find the top of my collarbone. He bites down gently, then licks the spot when I hiss through my teeth. “God, you taste good,” he murmurs huskily into my ear.

I wish that my hands weren’t still covered in soap so that I could turn and run my fingers into his hair. I want his mouth on mine, want that heat. “That’s sounds a little cannibalistic.”

“I want to consume you.” Beck husks a groan in my ear and ruts against my back a little. My throat goes dry at the noticeable bulge poking the middle of my back. He rinses the clean pot off, setting it on top of the drying towel to be dealt with later. 

“I don’t know if I should be scared or not.” I allow him to take my hands in his. He puts both of our hands under the running water, getting the soap off. I watch as he gets fresh soap on both of our hands, massaging the soap thoroughly in between our fingers, gently running his fingernail under each of mine. He’s so thorough, so skilled with his hands.

Beck’s breath is hot on the back of my neck. He whispers lowly, “You should be very scared. I have plans to _wreck_ you.”

I’ve never wanted to be wrecked more than I do right now. “Okay. Please do.”

He snorts and backs away a little, grabbing a fresh towel and drying off our hands. When he turns me to face him, his eyes are dark, almost black. He has that hungry look in his eyes, hinting at pure, animalistic need.

Beck grips either side of my neck and leans down, planting his lips on mine. I moan into his mouth and kiss him back, tilting my chin up so that I can meet him more thoroughly. His tongue flicks over the top of my mouth, sending a tingling, throbbing heat all the way to my core. When I utter a soft sigh, he grunts and tugs me against him, the entire length of my body rubbing against his.

I pull back slightly and kiss the corner of his mouth, rising to my toes to reach him when he also leans away. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the thick strands. “We should stop,” I whisper, pressing another kiss against his lips. “I want you so much.”

Beck hisses, teeth gathering my bottom lip and nipping at it. His hands wander down my back, gripping my ass. He pulls me harder against him, showing me just how turned on he is. “Let’s go upstairs.”

I nod, but when his mouth recaptures mine, I forget that we’re supposed to be separating, heading out of the kitchen. His lips move fluidly over mine, guiding me into this trancelike state of friction and pressure. I want something between my thighs, something to rub against. My core feels empty, this aching need to be filled.

I want Beck to fill me up with everything that he has to give.

He slides his knee between my legs, pressing me down into his thigh with his grip on my ass. “That’s it,” he murmurs when I grind down against him. “So good.”

Being told that I’m _good_ shouldn’t be so hot, but it is. I tug Beck’s head back down to mine and reconnect our lips, rutting against his thigh in aborted movements. It’s not enough.

Beck seems to think so too, because he growls and lifts me up against him, turning and setting me on the countertop. He scoots me to the very edge, the perfect height for his groin to meet the apex of my thighs. He thrusts shallowly against me, chest rubbing against mine, abdominal muscles flexing under his shirt.

“Christ,” he whispers. “I can’t _think_ when I’m with you, Low.”

I gasp some sort of agreement and press my face into his neck, licking the skin there. He tastes like salt and skin and this clean musk that’s all Beck. I love his scent, his taste. I want to taste more of him.

He makes me hungry too.

“Oh my god!” My mom’s voice sounds from the direction of the door. Beck tears away from me, whipping his head around. I look up in shock, all the blood draining from my face at the sight of Mom standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s wearing a bathrobe. “What are you two _doing_?!”

“Shit,” Beck mutters. His body is still angled toward me, head only turned to look at Mom. My hands grip his shirt, anxiety making my heart race.

Holy shit. We’ve fucked up. We’ve really, really fucked up this time.

“Bryant!” Mom screams, face red. Her eyes glare murderously at Beck. “Bryant, get down here now!”

Beck subtly reaches down and adjusts his pants, pulling away from me. He then faces Mom fully, raising his hands. His face is pale, eyes flashing back to mine with obvious panic in their depths. “Rachel—”

Bryant’s footsteps thud moments before he rushes into the kitchen. He has a pair of reading glasses on and is gasping for air. “What? What happened?”

Mom points a shaking finger at Beck. “He was attacking my daughter! Oh my god—Harlow, get over here now!”

Beck goes still, horrified gaze locked on his father. I hastily slide off of the counter and rush to stand in front of Beck, exclaiming, “No! He didn’t do anything like that, Mom!”

“Get away from him!” Mom screams, lunging forward as if to grab me.

I flinch back into Beck’s chest. His fingers grip the hem of my t-shirt, chest heaving with panic. I want to reassure him that I won’t let this misunderstanding last, that I’ll make things right.

How do I make things right, though?

Bryant stares hard at Beck, face pallid. He has to clear his throat before he says, “What have you done?”

Beck’s voice vibrates through my back. “I—Dad—”

“Beckett!” Bryant bellows, a vein popping in his neck. His eyes stray to mine, then back to Beck’s. “What the fuck have you done?!”

“Nothing!” Beck flinches. His voice cracks. “Dad—”

“You stupid bastard!” Bryant takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, hand raising to pass over his mouth. When he has collected himself somewhat, he levels a cool glare on Beck and I. “You two. In my office— _now_.”

And then he turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen. Mom looks between the doorway and us. She seethes at me, “I just _knew_ you would fuck everything up.”

When she follows after Bryant, I turn to face Beck. His lips are pressed together, dark eyes troubled. “Shit, Harlow,” he whispers. He gathers me to his chest, body trembling. He looks more scared than I’ve ever seen him, truly terrified.

I swallow thickly, trying to stave off the tears that want to come. “We messed up. Fucking hell, we messed up, Beck.”

He nods, nose buried in my hair. His arms squeeze me tightly, and I squeeze him back with just as much force. When he pulls away, his eyes are rimmed red. He looks the epitome of stressed out as he takes my hand up in a firm grip and leads me upstairs. It feels like walking to our own executions.

***********

“I just can’t _believe_ you, Beck!” Bryant exclaims, throwing his hands up. “What could have possibly led you to believe that this is acceptable behavior?”

I fidget in my seat on the couch in Bryant’s office. Beck answers, “We weren’t thinking.” His thigh brushes mine as it bounces. He’s filled with nervous energy. His fingers are still laced with mine, which is a relief to have _some_ support in this suffocating room.

Bryant scoffs a bitter laugh. “She’s going to be your _stepsister_ , Beckett! Jesus Christ—didn’t think I’d have to spell that one out for you!”

“It just happened, okay? And it’s not like this upcoming _marriage_ ,” Beck sneers the word, “of yours is going to last. I mean, your goddamn fiancée is already cheating.” He waves a hand at my mom.

Mom sits up straight and exclaims in outrage, “I am _not_ , you lying little—”

Beck speaks over her, “I caught her and that Bunting guy after school on Monday! They were upstairs and both of their clothes were messed up.”

I glance at him in surprise. He never told me that.

“You’re lying!” Mom screams.

Bryant winces at the noise, but sends Beck a tired, angry look. “Don’t make up stories to distract from your actions—”

“I’m not lying!” Beck slumps back in his chair, glaring at Mom. “She fucking told me not to tell you that the guy was over at our house. I totally caught them cheating, Dad!”

Bryant glares skeptically at Mom. “I thought you said that you and Oliver met at a coffee shop downtown.”

Mom says through gritted teeth, “We did. I just forgot some papers at the house, so we stopped by.”

“She’s lying, Dad.” Beck’s tone is pleading. “I wouldn’t fabricate something like this. The bitch is—”

“Watch it, Beck,” Bryant warns. His patience is obviously wearing thin. “This has nothing to do with the fact that you have been messing around with your future stepsister! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s not Beck’s fault,” I pipe in. My voice is weak even to my own ears. “We didn’t intend to—”

“Of _course_ you intended this!” Mom bares her teeth at me from her seat next to Bryant’s desk. “You always do this, always find _some_ way to mess everything up—”

“Quiet!” Bryant roars, finally out of patience. He glares at Mom until she stops talking. “I don’t care if what they did was bad, Rachel. I’m sick and tired of you speaking to your daughter like she’s trash. It’s extremely unattractive.”

Mom gets this gobsmacked look on her face. She shuts up without comment.

Bryant continues, addressing me and Beck, “You two are old enough to know better than to do this. What even went through your heads? Did you seriously think this would lead anywhere—that you’d be able to _continue_ this relationship?”

I swallow thickly and stare at my knees. I don’t know how to respond to that. I haven’t been under the impression that Beck and I are even in a relationship—in fact, I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been so focused on just getting through school and all the other shit that’s been happening, that I haven’t had the mental capacity to sit down and analyze whether or not I want to be in a relationship with Beck. I mean, the obvious answer is an emphatic _yes_. But I think some part of me in the back of my mind is convinced that it’s not possible for Beck to ever be my _boyfriend_. If he’d even want to.

My mom is marrying his dad. There’s no way around that.

Beck speaks up, “We haven’t talked about any of that! Things just happened, all right?”

“That’s not good enough of an excuse, Beck, and you know it.” Bryant sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even know what to do with you from now on. I mean, you live in the same house, for Christ’s sake!”

Beck’s fingers strangle mine. I allow it. “We’ll stop.” His eyes meet mine, searching desperately. “Right, Low? We’ll stop—avoid each other if we have to.”

The thought of not getting to spend time with Beck anymore brings tears to my eyes—it feels like my heart is tearing in half, this chasm gaping wide in my chest. I nod anyway. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Please,” Mom scoffs, rolling her eyes. “As if they’ll actually keep their word.”

Bryant shoots her an annoyed look, but speaks to Beck and I. “I don’t care what you two have to do, but this stops _today._ Are we clear?” His eyes connect with mine, then Beck’s.

We both nod. A muscle pops in Beck’s jaw and his voice is rough as he says, “Got it.”

“If you don’t break off whatever this is,” Bryant continues, motioning between us with a grim expression, “I will send Mike to boarding school.”

Beck protests, “What the fuck, Dad? He has nothing to do with this—”

Bryant raises his voice, “I will do what I have to, Beckett! If sending Mike away is what it takes for you to get your shit together, then so be it.”

“Mike is graduating soon,” Beck argues, glaring hatefully at his father. “You can’t just disrupt his senior year—”

“I’ll hold him back a year if I have to!” Bryant shouts. “As his parent, I can decide whether he graduates or gets placed on retention status. I _will_ make him redo senior year if you two don’t stop this bullshit immediately.”

“That’s not fair to Mike, though!” I say, horrified. “He’s worked so hard to graduate early—”

Bryant holds up a hand. “I don’t want to bring Mike into this, but I _will_. If Mike is the only motivation for you two to get it together, then I’ll use him as ammunition.” He moves his eyes to Beck. “Are we clear?”

Beck lets out a long stream of expletives, letting go of my hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “Fucking fine.”

I don’t know what to say to any of this, so I just nod jerkily.

Bryant’s mouth presses into a thin line and his expression softens. “I know you two have grown close recently, but this is for the best—”

“Can we go?” Beck demands, already standing from the couch. I stand with him, silently begging him to meet my eyes. He never does.

Bryant lets out a sigh and nods. “Yes.”

“Great.” Beck charges toward the door, throws it open, and is stomping down the hall before I can catch up to him.

“Wait!” I manage to snag the hem of his shirt. He stops but doesn’t look back at me, eyes locked angrily on the floor. I don’t know what to say to him. “Um… Was what you said about my mom true? Was that guy really here on Monday—the bald one?” My voice shakes unbidden.

Beck says gruffly, “Yeah. I can’t fucking believe Dad thought I was lying.” He wipes a hand down his face.

My breath stutters in my chest. I want to find something else to talk to him about, something to keep him _here_. With me. “Do you want to—”

“Low,” Beck interrupts me. His eyes are sad, regretful as he finally looks at me. “We need to stay away from each other from now on.”

My chest hurts. I let go of his shirt like it has burned me and whisper, “Right. Okay.”

Beck’s eyes speak of so much emotion as he softly says, “I’m sorry.”

And then he disappears down the hall without another word, leaving me blinking after him with tears in my eyes and a feeling in my chest that oddly resembles heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Don't hate me? Please?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy my project! If you have any comments, questions, or suggestions, please leave a review! They are always appreciated. I haven't written in a while (other than grad school essays, which are essentially medieval torture), so please be patient with me while I get back up to speed and figure out exactly how I want to portray these characters. Thanks, as always!


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